


Nobody's Bitch

by tenaya



Series: Bloody But Unbowed [4]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Dubious Consent, Episode: s01e10 Progeny, Explicit Sex, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mick Rory Defense Squad, Missing Scene, Past Child Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rip Hunter fans may want to avoid this one., Rip Hunter is darker than what he ended up being, Torture, Unreliable Narrator, coldwave, drugs used during a sexual assault, story is now taking the road less traveled
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-01 17:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 29
Words: 78,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6529693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenaya/pseuds/tenaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first chapter was all about exploring why Mick quit beating on Snart and what it would take to make things right between them.  Now it's become an alternate take on the first season after the episode 'Progeny.' Adventures on the <em>Waverider</em> with focus on the relationship between Leonard Snart and Mick Rory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Return of Mick Rory

Sara was good at many things, most of them deadly. Anything could be made into a weapon and that was especially true for emotions—and guilt was the best one of all. Sara was good at sniffing out guilt and Snart was drowning in it. When a man was blinded by regrets and guilt, they lost the ability to see what was right in front of them and that made it extremely easy to take them down.

Partnerships have a natural balance even as the power oscillates between the players. She understood that; it left room for growth but if things went too far, the partnership would be in danger of breaking apart. It was at times like these that the quickest and safest way to restore order was to reset the partners back to their original roles.

She paid a brief visit to Mick Rory and reminded him that Snart had been a loyal friend to him, that when Leonard thought he might be dying, he had comforted himself by recounting how he had met Mick. She knew these words would make Mick think about Snart and his thoughts would be filled with those same memories. He would remember how he, too, had felt at that moment he’d decided to befriend a stranger in need.

Next, she talked to Snart and made a quick dig into his open wound of guilt. She followed up with a simple challenge that he needed to man up and make it right with Mick. It hardly took any effort at all. Men like these were physical beings. One way or another, the rift would be dealt with and they could all get back to the mission.

***

Equal parts of wild hope and disbelief filled Mick when Snart proposed they fight man to man to settle their differences. He quickly agreed to it because his desire to hurt Snart was nearly blinding; he needed to hurt him as much as he was hurting. They traded blows at first and Mick matched the power of the punches he threw with those that landed, but soon that wasn’t enough. His anger flooded out and he quickly landed punch after punch until Snart was on his back nearly insensible. Seeing Snart beaten and bloody jarred him and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he’d seen him so, when he’d made the decision to get involved and he pulled a pack of vicious punks off the new kid who had had the misfortune to be both small and pretty.

Lying quietly, Snart stared up at him, his expression devoid of anger or hatred with only a calm acceptance of his fate. Mick saw only pain and blood and then the slighter man lifted his chin, baring his throat in an instinctive display of surrender that stilled Mick’s next blow, freezing his fist in mid-strike. He’d spent years protecting Snart and had been hurt beyond measure that his partner, his _friend_ would discard him in favor of a bunch of do-gooders he’d just met. But suddenly all he could see was Lenny lying there, needing to be saved again. Frozen with the shock, he stared in horror at Snart’s ruined face and fell backwards, away from what he’d done.

There had been only one person he’d ever valued or cared about and he was lying broken on the floor, a physical embodiment of how Mick felt inside. He knew he didn’t want to kill Snart; even the revenge he’d spent long hours fantasizing about always had Snart alive at the end. If Snart was dead he couldn’t hurt like Mick hurt.

“We had a deal, Mick. Kill me and you walk. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? To get off the team,” Snart reminded him, his voice trailing off weaker than at the start.

Was that bastard _encouraging_ Mick to kill him? Fuck that! Mick was tired of being told what to do; he was his own man, damnit. Like a bubble bursting, the burning compulsion to hunt and kill dissipated with a pop. Mick shook his head at the sudden peacefulness in his head and the complete lack of the obsessive drive that had filled him . “I don’t know what I want any more. The truth is it doesn’t matter.”

“What are you talking about?” Snart whispered, even now willing to help Mick figure something out.

“Whether I stay or leave, I’m dead. We’re all dead.” He stared at Snart and knew he didn’t want him dead and now that his longtime partner was in front of him, Mick didn’t want to die either. Well, that made it simple. Someone else was gonna have to die if it wasn’t gonna be them.

He pushed himself to his feet and hooked Snart by his upper arm, pulling him up along with him. Snart cried out in pain but that was alright. He owed Mick. “Come on. I need to tell the rest of the clown car crew something and you need to hear it, too.”

It was a short walk to the bridge and Snart tried his best to keep up even though he couldn’t straighten up entirely. Mick must have cracked a few ribs so instead of dumping Snart hard to the floor, he pushed him towards a panel he could lean against as Mick continued on to confront Rip. The rest of the crew was there and Mick snarled to see not a one spared Snart a concerned glance. They just stared warily at Mick and waited. Might as well get started.

“Since I failed to bring you in, the Time Masters want to bring me in. And this time, they aren’t going to take any chances. They’re called the Hunters. They’re mercenaries and unlike me, there isn’t a human part left in them.”

“So they want to lock us all up in the Vanishing Point,” Palmer asked.

“The Hunters do one thing: Kill. Whenever, wherever. They’ll stop at nothing until every single one of us is erased from the face of history.”

“Do you have any suggestions as to how we might outsmart them, Mr. Rory?” asked Rip and it wasn’t just Mick’s imagination that there was now a touch of respect to his tone. Nice.

“Run,” he growled. Let them stew on that for a while.

He stopped before he left the room and turned, scowling at each of occupants. They stared back. None of them had moved to help Snart or even ask if he needed help. Snart still leaned painfully against the wall where Mick had dumped him.   Without a word, Mick walked back to Snart and grabbed him by the upper arm, pulling him with him as left. No one questioned it, no one protested.

“I can’t say I’m impressed with the team,” he scoffed as he opened to the door to his old room. He pushed Snart onto his bed and watched as he caught his descent enough to slowly, painfully lay himself down.

“Does it hurt?” Mick asked, stepping up to the bed to tower over Snart.

“Yes.” The word was said with the least effort possible but it still caused Snart to wince.

“Does each breath bring fresh pain?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You stay here and you remember I did this to you but I stopped short of killing you as was my right. Every ache, every pain is payment for the hell I went through. Let’s hope my desire for vengeance fades along with your bruises, eh?”

He continued to stare at Snart, laying complacent in his bed, under his control again and felt his anger weaken. This was right. Snart was his again. Mick would play along with do-gooders. He’d even be a good team member if that’s what it took to survive the Hunters when they came. Snart would use that clever brain of his and maybe, maybe they’d have a fighting chance to win, a chance to kill the bastards before they could kill them. Mick could handle Snart scheming again; that would be okay, as long as Snart remembered what the rules were, who his friend really was.

Mick let his gaze take in the attractive, nicely muscled body on his bed. He hadn’t fucked Snart in a long time. Maybe that was the problem. Fucking was an easy way to remind everyone who was on the top and who was on the bottom. Snart lost sight of that just because he got used to Mick accepting his orders. There was a difference between teamwork where the partners pulled their weight in each of their areas of expertise and where one partner was seen as a lapdog, a flunky of the other.

Snart hated sucking cock but he didn’t mind being fucked. Mick would grant him that favor as long as Snart didn’t lose sight of his place again.

He leaned over his partner until his lips were next to his ear. “Feel free to help the Captain make a plan where we all survive. When you order me about, I’ll do as you ask, no problem. But each night you return here, to my bed. Every night. We’re going to start fucking again, but I’ll give you three days to heal up some first.

“I don’t think the others will mind. I see how things are. Hell, you froze you own hand off and no one went to help you. I dump your beaten body on the bridge and no one raises an eyebrow. To tell you the truth, I’m not seeing too much teaminess towards you from them. Don’t worry though. I’ll take care of you like I always have. You’re just gonna have to pay for the honor of my presence here for a while.” His hand hovered over Snart’s brow. Deciding against touching the swollen bruises, he let his fingers trail over his chest until they found a nipple and he gently rolled the nub between a finger and thumb. “Three nights from now be ready. You remember how I liked you? Clean yourself out first.” He paused for a few moments. “You hearing me?”

“Yeah,” Snart drawled. “I hear you. You’ll be fucking my ass every night starting in three days.”

“You gonna try for better terms?”

“No.” He braced his ribs with his hand and cleared his throat painfully. “If that’s what I have to do to make it right between us, that’s what I’ll do.”

Mick grunted with approval. “Smart. Just for that, I won’t have you suck me off. On the bridge. With them all watching.”

Snart snorted once then tensed up from the pain it caused. “Ow.” A few breaths later, he was able to add a sarcastic, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. They’ll learn not to fuck with me again, or you for that matter.” He walked to the door and paused. “You need anything?”

“Some decent lube three days from now.” There might have been a ghost of a smile following the words.

“I’ll ask Gideon.” He turned out the lights but before he shut the door, he said, “I’ll come back in a few hours with some soup.”

“Thanks, Mick,” came the soft reply. And just like that, Mick knew it would be okay between them, maybe even stronger than ever.

***

Back on the bridge, Ray Palmer glanced worriedly at the corridor that led to the crew quarters for the fifth time in as many minutes. “Are you sure ignoring Snart was the best way to handle this? He was a mess. He could have internal injuries.”

Sara shook her head. “Leave them be. If Snart needs anything, Mick should get it for him.” When Ray continued to look unconvinced, she added, “Snart screwed up and he needed to be punished for that.”

“Needed?” Dr. Stein asked, surprised.

“Oh, yeah. Snart needed to take that beating as much as Mick needed to give it to him. Now that it’s happened, they will go back to being the best of buddies again.” Fuck buddies, she thought but felt it best to leave that unsaid. Some here would understand but there were one or two of the team that probably wouldn’t and might make the fatal error of thinking they should interfere.

Besides, it wasn’t anyone’s business but their own. 

And yet still, an image of Mick taking his partner filled her mind and she felt a flush of heat course pleasantly through her. She couldn't stay here with those thoughts making her restless so she turned away from the team. “I’ll be in the gym. Looks like things are going to get hot around here, sooner than later.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how it is. You see a riveting scene on tv and it won't leave you alone until you work out all the bits that canon left out. Unbetaed. All comments welcomed.


	2. Take a Penny, Leave a Penny

Leonard Snart leaned back in his chair, watching stone-faced as Rip Hunter and Dr. Stein quibbled over something something who-the-hell-knows-what. At least that’s what he gave the impression he was doing. Actually, he’d spent the last few hours watching Mick as Mick watched everyone else from where he leaned against the bulkhead on the far side of the ship’s study, his face giving nothing away. That part in particular unnerved Len. Mick had come back different, really different from the Vanishing Point. Gone were the easy tells that alerted Len that Mick was getting annoyed or bored or worst, restless. It was like his body language had gone from English to Mandarin, or more likely Martian. It had frightened Len badly when Mick had threatened to kill Lisa and one of the things he needed to assess was if Mick was still a threat to her. If he was, Len would have to do something about him. First, he’d need to crack the code on this new Mick.

A deep voice was suddenly beside him. “It’s time,” Mick said, his voice low.

Startled, Len lifted his eyes to meet Mick’s emotionless gaze. How had Mick crept up on him so quickly? The big man stood back up and wandered on slowly before stopping to lean against another section of wall, apparently still interested in all the science talk. It was clear he understood what they were saying and when he felt like it, would offer an opinion that had some merit. Len had never thought Mick was stupid; it was just that he didn’t care about much. He _had_ cared about fire, robbery, fighting, Lisa and Len. There didn’t seem to be anything on that list that Mick cared about anymore.

It was time? Oh yeah. It _was_ the night of the third day. Tonight the fucking would commence.

Len had healed up enough that the worst of the pain was now just a faint ache though his face was still marked with faded bruises. Just before they’d left to investigate an event that hinted at a possible involvement of Savage, Len had gone to the medbay to get his ribs fixed. He wasn’t fool enough to put himself or the team at risk by walking injured into a fight where his speed and strength might be needed. Mick hadn’t commented about it or tried to recrack them so it must have been okay with him.

He wondered what this new Mick would want from him. The Mick from before had been a vigorous lover, at times playful and other times rough, but always, in the end, generous. Len couldn’t count on any of that but he supposed the next few hours would give him better insight into what sort of man Mick now was.

He felt his scalp prickle and glanced up to find Mick’s eyes focused on him. Len cleared his throat and leaned forward, slapping his hands on his knees. “Well, I think I’ve gotten all I needed from this conversation—the sudden inability to keep my eyes open. I’m heading for bed.” The two squabblers barely paused and Len walked to Mick’s cabin with their still annoying conversation fading away behind him. He would either have to start learning about the time stream or leave. He wasn’t sure which would be better for him now that everything had changed.

He entered the cabin and went straight into the bathroom with all the weird plumbing fixtures. He stripped off his clothes but didn’t bathe. Mick had ordered Len to come to his bed a certain way and Mick like a little sweat on his lov—bed partners. Today had been a sweaty day so he was good there.

He also wanted him cleaned out. The Mick of old would request that when he was thinking about eating Len’s ass. That didn’t seem too likely tonight so maybe it was some kink he’d picked up while being the Time Master’s chew toy. Len’d told Gideon what he needed and it turned out the toilet had some weird-ass bidet like settings along with a retracting nozzle thing where Gideon could control the temperature, depth of penetration and flow rate. Len had experimented with it a few times and decided that the future was full of kinky bastards that were clever and very practical. Well, it certainly made life easier.

He was still sitting on the toilet when he heard the outer door open. Show time. His preparations finished, he stood up and gathered a few hand towels. Taking a deep breath, he walked into the main cabin.

Mick stood in the center of the cabin pulling his shirt off; he tossed it to the floor and turned to face Len. His gaze was heated as he slowly looked Len over from head to foot and back again. Len held himself still for the inspection. He had a multitude of faded scars on his body that told of the years of abuse by his father. Len didn’t like anyone to see them because they were proof he’d been weak and he didn’t want anyone getting ideas. Mick had seen them and Len had been comfortable about that but strangely, Mick’s appraisal now made Len’s face burn with shame. Mick now viewed Len as weak. He thought Len didn’t have the guts to kill him when Len’s real intention had been to put his out-of-control partner into a time out and collect him later when everyone had calmed down. Then they fought with their fists. Their brief fight had ended with Len soundly defeated; Len’s regret had stolen the power to his punches while Mick’s rage had super fueled his hits.

“Get on the bed. Face down,” Mick ordered quietly as he unbuckled his belt. With a few quick moves, he’d removed his shoes and shucked his trousers down and off his legs. He straightened up, completely nude now, his cock hanging long, thick and half hard.

Len slid open a drawer by the bed and pulled out a tube of lube and a couple of condoms, tossing them onto the table next to the hand towels he’d brought in. “Gideon was most helpful,” he said, sitting down. “Turns out rubbers are still a thing in the future.”

Mick was a pillar of contained power and stillness in the center of the room and Len felt his anxiety build as he found he still could not read what his old partner was thinking. Mick’s body was just as ripped as it had been but somehow the muscles looked harder, denser. Shockingly, his scars were gone. In their place, his arms had a light dusting of hair that matched that that covered his torso and legs. His hair was slightly denser between his pecs while an even darker trail led from his belly button downward to the dark nest around his cock. It was very unsettling that both Mick and his body were different from what Len was familiar with; in fact, it was creepy as hell.

Mick lifted his eyebrows with a silent question. Len gave a tight smile in response and lay down on the bed. He rolled onto his stomach.

Mick stepped closer and picked up the lube. “Did you clean yourself out?”

“Yeah. What’s the matter? You suddenly averse to getting a few smudges on your condoms? Had some rude surprises while you’ve been gone?”

Mick grunted and sat down near Len’s knees. “We’re barebacking tonight, Snart. I’m gonna enjoy this even more if I don’t have to go shower afterwards.”

Len jumped as a cold, slick finger pushed into him, followed quickly by a second. He bit back a gasp and tensed. “A little eager there, sparky?” He jumped again as a large warm hand smacked his ass, then Mick’s strong fingers were kneading the thick muscle.

“So tight,” Mick purred as he worked his fingers in and out. “I thought I must have imagined that.” He added a third finger. “Spread your legs some more. Make me feel welcomed, _partner._ ”

Len pushed one knee out and up, opening himself despite the overwhelming urge to lock his knees together. Mick’s fingers were thick and meaty; three of them together were causing his entrance to burn. “Any chance for a little more lube, _partner_?” He really shouldn’t antagonize the man but if he didn’t speak up, things were going to go downhill quickly and the discomfort already was making him testy. Well, testier than usual.

The big hand on his butt left. “If it will shut up your whining, sure.” Mick’s fingers withdrew a few inches and paused. Len heard a squirting sound and suddenly there was more cold wetness and Mick’s fingers were smearing it around and in his hole. “That’s enough. More than you deserve, really,” Mick said decisively as he removed his hands.

The bed bounced as Mick stood, then dipped again as Mick straddled him. Both hands were now wet and slick as he gripped Len’s cheeks and spread them apart. “It’s a fine, firm ass but help yourself out here, Snart. Stick those sweet cheeks in the air a smidge.”

Len grimaced and did as requested, canting his hips up in a move that he knew was pure blatant invitation. In the past, he’d been more than eager to drive Mick wild by teasing him with the most tempting target he could; now he just felt apprehensive. He shoved his forehead into the mattress and got two fistfuls of the bed linens, bracing himself for whatever Mick would bring on.

He didn’t have to wait. Large and blunt, Mick’s cock breached his ring of muscle and slid smoothly without pause until Len could feel the press of Mick’s skin against his ass. Even though he was expecting it, the shock of the sudden stinging burn as his sphincter was being forced all the way open still stole his breath. All his muscles locked up as he fought with his instinct to defend himself.

Mick groaned and it was filled with such relief and pleasure, Len had no doubt that Mick’s toes were curling. “I’ve waited so long for this,” Mick said as he lowered himself down on Len, covering Len’s body with weight and warmth. He rested his head against Len’s and Len felt a hot wet tongue swipe across the back of his neck. “I wanted to hurt you for leaving me in that cold, miserable hellhole, but more than that, I wanted to taste you again, smell you, feel your body as I make it come,” he whispered.

Mick’s weight shifted and Len felt the big man’s cock slide slowly out. Just when he thought surely it must pop out, Len felt it push slowly back in. “I hope you’re comfortable, because this is gonna take a while,” Mick rumbled.

Len turned his head and tried to catch a glimpse of Mick out of the corner of his eye. “What are you doing, Mick?” he said through gritted teeth. He’d been prepared for callousness, had feared being taken so roughly that he might be triggered to fight back but he hadn’t been prepared for gentleness.

As the slow thrusting continued, Mick’s hand slid under the pillow at the top of the bed and suddenly, the air was vibrating like a heavy truck was driving by. “What—”

“Shush. Listen carefully,” Mick whispered into his ear. “I’ve turned on an audio scrambler. If we whisper the ship’s monitoring devices won’t pick us up.”

Len glanced quickly around what he could see of the room. “Who would be—”

“Who do you think? Rip Hunter. He’s probably watching right now and recording it for repeated play backs. He’s not what you think, Lenny.”

“What?”

But Len had spoken too loudly and Mick nipped his earlobe. “Too loud. We’re both in danger if he figures out what I’m doing here.” He pointed his tongue and stuck it in Len’s ear and Len shuddered from the stimulation.

It was hard to think with that maddening slow screw Mick was giving him. “Tell me!” he whispered. “What’s going on?”

Mick hooked his jaw over Len’s shoulder and his head was pressed side to side with Len’s. “The Time Masters, all of them, are fucking psychos and even they think Rip Hunter is fucked up. He was a mediocre student and grief has separated him from all sense of reality. He’s gathered this crew specifically because they are disposable and he _will_ sacrifice you all to his obsession to kill Savage. Every fucking time he changes the timeline, he makes it worse for Earth, for his family.

“You know he’s watching us on the ship’s video feed? He’s perfectly happy to think I’m raping you because it will make you more desperate for his help. I wonder how long he’s willing to let you be used? How long before he approaches you, has deemed that you’ve been weaken enough by me and are more pliable? He’s hot for you, Lenny. I bet he comes on to you when he gets around to offering to save you from me. I bet he’s whacking off right now as he’s watching us, imagining himself as the one that’s nailing your ass to the bed.”

Len scowled. Where the hell did that come from? “That seems unlikely. You’ve changed. How can I tr…what proof do you have?”

“At first, all I could think of was getting you away from him and making you pay for marooning me. But these last few days, I’ve broken my programming and reclaimed my memories. He played me, manipulated me until you felt you had no choice but to put me down. He was the one that suggested that, wasn’t he? He wanted the hawks as bait. He’s a psychopath and delusional. Look at you; he’s got you killing for him when you were supposed to be working as a thief. He’s isolated you. Have you been able to learn about the time stream or how to pilot this ship? As long as you’re drinking the hero Kool-Aid, you’re safe for the time being but if you use your brain, you’ll see you’re screwed if you stay on this ship. He wants you vulnerable and at his mercy, Lenny.”

“Why? This is a lot to take in and I can’t _think_ while you’re doing that to me!”

Mick hummed and it was low and came deep from his chest. “Then don’t think, Lenny. Just _be_. We’ll talk again tomorrow night.”

The annoying barely heard vibration from the scrambler stopped and Mick brought his hand out from under the pillow. “I wanted to last longer but I don’t think I can. I guess I could make a cockring for tomorrow.” Mick’s voice was louder now, speaking at a volume suitable for the observer he claimed they had.

Mick braced one elbow into the mattress and rested his other hand on the back of Len’s neck as he levered his chest up. The next thrust in had more of a snap to his hips as he shortened his stroke. There was a wet smacking of flesh on flesh as he sped up.

The weight on Len’s neck was uncomfortable and he shrugged his shoulders. Mick’s fingers tightened to hold their position better. “Mick,” he grunted, timing his words between bounces. “Move your hand.”

“No.”

Len reached up to push the hand away but Mick suddenly grabbed it and pinned it to the mattress. Len did not like being restrained, especially during sex with a larger man. It brought back a few bad memories and he tried to arch off the bed, swatting at Mick’s hip, the only part of him he could reach. “Fuck off, Mick! You know I don’t like this type of thing!”

“Too bad. This isn’t about you. It’s about me tonight, and tonight I want to totally control you. You owe me and tonight is the first installment.”

Len jerked his head around to try and see Mick’s face. “Is this how it’s gonna be then?”

“No, not all the time. I know you, Snart. You can take a beating; your old man saw to that. I needed you to see that I’ve changed. That _we’ve_ changed and I think this is the most effective way to bypass that maze inside your brain.”

By pushing hard against the mattress, Len could turn his head another inch and finally see Mick, the effort making him grit his teeth. His old partner was scowling, his eyes unfocused so deep was his concentration. Suddenly, his gaze flicked over to Len and their eyes locked.

Mick’s eyes widened and, staring hard at Len, he started to fuck him faster. Faster was good. He would finish soon unless Mick had a new technique for hitting his climaxes. Len wasn’t sure if he believed anything Mick had told him but his ass was getting sore and he was done with this scene before they had even started.

As he stared back at Mick feeling nothing but resentment, Mick’s expression became worried then anxious. When the familiar look of confused doubt arrived Len suddenly felt that they were seeing each other again, that he was looking into the eyes of the old Mick, the one he knew and trusted. He felt his own face soften as a spike of hope struck his heart. “Mick?” he asked searchingly.

Mick gasped, “Damn you!” and he came hard, his fingers tightening painfully where they still had hold of Len. Then Mick was pulling out and he pushed Len roughly onto his back. One calloused hand gripped Len under the jaw while the other finished pinning his head immobile by seizing his ear. Mick held him fast and kissed him hard, his tongue forcing its way inside Len’s mouth all hot and needy.

This was the Mick Len knew and he kissed him back, passionately, eagerly.

Mick jerked back, ending the kiss even though Len’s mouth was still open, his lips wet and tingling. “Damn you, Snart. You son of a bitch.”

Len smiled and looked away. “You’re doing it wrong if you’re not happier than that after having sex.”

Mick narrowed his eyes. “You’re a bad habit,” he growled. “One that I can’t afford anymore.”

Len tilted his head and stared at Mick from the side of his eyes. “You should be careful with that. I felt the same way recently but it didn’t turn out so well for me.”

Mick grunted. Funny thing about Mick’s grunts were they had dozens of different meanings. This one said, _“That’s not as funny as you think it is.”_ Mick snagged a towel from the bedside table and wiped himself dry. Folding it in half, he gruffly ordered, “Lift.” Len tilted his hips and legs to the side and exposed his backside, more than willing to let Mick clean the smears of lube from Len’s skin. He wadded up the towel and tossed it onto the floor.

“Lights, Gideon. Turn ‘em off,” Mick said. He flopped next to Len and threw an arm around him. “Get some sleep. I may want to fuck you again in the morning so don’t freak out.”

“Is it going to be as one sided as this time, because maybe freaking out would be more satisfying,” Len pushed, the sudden darkness making him willing to gamble. Maybe he could still reach Mick; it was certainly worth the risk if he could.

There was a long silence.

“Nah. You’re hotter than a burning house, Snart, and you know how I feel about those.”

Len wanted to question him further but held his tongue. He’d made some progress tonight and he’d leave it at that for now. Instead, he just murmured, “Good night, Mick,” and closed his eyes.

Mick grunted in the darkness beside him and the hand that rested warm and heavy on his hip flexed its fingers slightly.

That small movement was enough. When Chronos had knelt in front of Len and revealed himself as Mick, Len had felt a terrible coldness fill his core. He had lived with its painful ache for days but now it eased away. He wasn’t sure if he should believe what Mick had said about Rip, but there was time to figure that out. First things first, and he vowed to make Mick first from now on.

Unless Mick was conning him.

He hummed as he considered that thought.

“Go to sleep, Lenny. You’re thinking too loud.”

Len brought his hand up and rested it on top of Mick’s.

He hoped like hell it wasn’t a con.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is like white cat hair on black pants; it just won't go away.
> 
> Not beta'd. I'm sorry for the inevitable typos and errors.
> 
> I'm not sure if there will be another chapter. Depends on the boys.
> 
> All comments deeply appreciated! I know this is a little different than most of the Coldwave fic out there, so it would be helpful to know if you're enjoying it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. :)


	3. Midnight Interlude

The night was only half over when Mick awoke content and relaxed in a way he almost couldn’t remember feeling before. Everything seemed familiar and right and he smiled sadly to note it was because during their sleep they had moved around until he was spooning Len, his face resting against the soft short hair and his boner pressed up against Len’s rump. That probably explained the erotic dream he’d been having that involved a version of Len as he used to be after a well-executed theft: playful, demanding and willing to try nearly anything Mick might suggest.

He ran a finger lightly along Len’s arm and waited. “You awake?” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Good.” Mick slid his hand down Len’s thigh until he could cup his fingers behind the knee. He urged Len’s knee up until it was nearly against Len’s chest, feeling a fresh surge of heat to his cock at how well Len had maintained his flexibility. “Stay,” he rumbled.

Len leaned forward a smidge, opening himself up even further.

Mick spat in his hand and pushed past Len’s tight ring and into his soft, hot passage. He was still wet and sloppy inside from their previous coupling. Mick pressed in a little further and found his prostate. Remembering what Len liked, he circled it and smiled when Len’s breathing sped up.

Mick hummed and brought his now slick fingers to his own cock and he smeared the wet around the head. Inching closer, he pointed his dick until it was pressed against Len’s hole and he leaned into him, letting his larger mass do all the work of piercing Len. He brought up his own knee until it was snug against Len’s, their bodies now pressed against each other from head to foot. Their shared warmth was intoxicating, but the throbbing heat that surrounded his cock was heaven. There was no other word for the exquisite mixture of fire and sex.

“Couldn’t wait til morning, Mick?”

“My boner woke me up. I think it could smell your ass all lubed up and ready to go just inches away.” He licked the back of Len’s neck and started to gnaw at the tender flesh.

Len snorted and tilted his head to give Mick more room to work. “Always the romantic,” he drawled.

Mick crowded forward even more while he slid his hand over Len’s hard, flat stomach and higher until he found a nipple. He pinched it and rolled his between his finger and thumb.

Len gasped and reached down to grab behind Mick’s knee, yanking it up to pull Mick tighter behind him.

Mick pinched him harder and Len arched back into him. “I guess that’s still your start button,” he said, his lips brushing Len’s ear.

“Yeah, but while you remembered that, you’ve apparently forgotten how to drive. Or are you too lazy to move that fat ass of yours?”

“Still topping from the bottom, Snart? That’ll never change.”

“It’s only been a few days for me. I was always coming back for you. I just needed to separate you from the others for a while,” he said, and it wasn’t just Mick’s imagination that there was a note of desperation in his voice. “You’re all too good at killing and I couldn’t chance the outcome.”

“I don’t want to get into that right now. Not, when I’m inside you. You don’t want to make me mad, Snart.”

“Back to ‘Snart.’”

Mick grunted. “You talk too much.” He held his hand in front of Len’s mouth. “Spit,” he ordered.

Len spat. Mick also spit into his hand then reached around, pushing Len’s leg down until he could reach his erection, thick, hot and half-hard. With a few twists, he smeared the saliva around, then started to pull the organ, coaxing it to harden further. It felt _so good_ to wrap his fingers around Len’s hard cock, to pull the foreskin down and caress the sensitive head with his thumb. Unable to wait any longer, he rolled his hips against Len.

“Finally!” Len snarled. And just like old times, Len was pushing back at Mick as Mick thrust forward, their movements choreographed by years of practice. Their relationship may be in the crapper but their bodies knew what they wanted and they wanted each other.

Len fitted his fingers over Mick’s and together they pumped his now straining cock. He twisted his face towards Mick. “Kiss me,” he ordered, his voice rough and needy.

It was awkward and it took some straining by both of them, but then their mouths came together. Their tongues met with equal force and desperate need, and Len’s mouth was so damn _hot_. Everything about Len scorched Mick and he realized it was because his soul had been so cold for so long that even the man that called himself Cold was sending flames through every inch of him, awaking parts of him he’d thought were dead ash. Mick broke the kiss and with their faces so still so close they were sharing their breath, he started pumping Len’s cock faster. Maybe he was too rough with him but Len still came, his muscles locking up as he cried out, his tone both helpless and overwhelmed. It was a fault of his that sometimes when he was too stressed Len resisted losing any control, even to have the big O.

Mick pressed him into the bed and fucked him harder, purposely aiming to hit his prostate. He felt Len shudder as his orgasm was forced to continue, the noises he was making sounding pained and desperate. Mick wished it wasn’t so dark so that he could see Len’s face, see if his eyes were rolling back in his head. He had on a few occasions fucked him so hard he’d made him pass out. He wanted that now; he imagined Len so mindless with pleasure that all his walls shattered and he lay open, easy prey to Mick. That was enough to send Mick over the edge and an inferno of pleasure rolled through him. He spurted his seed deep into the hot core of his partner and was overcome with a need to mark him further. He bit him hard on the side of his neck.

He lay there hot and sweaty with Len twisted beneath him and breathing just as hard as he was. When Len didn’t start complaining immediately about being squashed, Mick asked, “Hey, you still with me?”

“Yeah,” he replied but gone was any hint of a snarl or of sarcasm; it was just a quiet, soft reply.

Mick grunted thoughtfully. Maybe he had fucked him senseless. Go, Mick.

He pulled out and immediately regretted it as the cool ship’s air made his wet dick uncomfortably cold. He found the second towel in the darkness and wiped them both down, even blotting about where the wet spot probably was. He tossed it away and settled back down behind Len, pulling him close again. Their exertions had made Len like a furnace and Mick wasn’t gonna let that go to waste.

Mick had almost drifted off when Len spoke, his voice still soft and thoughtful. “You know, lying here in the dark, I could almost forget that you’ve changed.”

Mick grabbed his hand and forced it to his own upper arm. “Do you feel any scars? They’re gone. They took them away from me and that’s not the only difference. You’d be wise to remember I _have_ changed and not only on the outside, Snart.”

He couldn’t help but warn Len. Every time he saw him sitting quietly in a chair, so still as to nearly be unnoticeable, Mick still saw the scrawny, guarded teenager that had learned the hard way to be invisible. And god help Mick, he still wanted to protect him, even from Mick himself.

Instead of withdrawing quickly, Len’s hand stayed on his arm, the fingers gently exploring. “It’s like how you used to be. Would you be angry with me if I said I liked you better like this?”

“I used to think I deserved those scars for burning my family. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Not that my opinion matters to you anymore, but I think you’ve suffered enough.

After his experiences at the Vanishing Point, Mick was inclined to agree with him. “You know what’s fucked up? My scars being _removed_ is the worst scar of all. Now get some sleep,” he gruffly ordered.

He tried to ignore his pang of loss when Len’s fingers left his arm, leaving only coolness where there had once been warmth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...apparently there has to be more smut before the plot complications arrive. 
> 
> I have to say this is the first time I've written a WIP. I don't post stories until they are finished and polished. This means I don't know how this will work out. It's also unbetaed, so I apologize for all the mistakes. I do go back and fix them as they reveal themselves. And now I will put the dreaded question mark that indicates it's not finished.
> 
> Thank you for reading. If you're enjoying the story, please remember to click kudo as it will help the story's ranking in AO3. Comments are very welcomed!


	4. A Conversation Is Just Another Type Of Warfare

Len awoke alone in the bed, the sheets cool beside him. Not only was Mick missing, also gone was the hum of the engines which meant the ship had landed somewhere. Huh. He probably should have listened a little closer last night.

Sitting up, he felt some residual crustiness pulling at his skin. He was a little sore from Mick’s attentions but all in all, the night had gone better than he thought it would. Mick obviously remembered how they used to be together; surely that meant the old Mick was still in there, somewhere.

Mick had tried to warn him about Rip; he needed to follow up on that as he tried to reconnect with Mick, to save their friendship. Or if that was impossible, to save him. He owed him that for marooning him and he was willing to do a lot to make up for that, but he was not willing to risk Lisa’s life. Resolved to spending the day finding out all he could, he quickly showered and dressed before heading for the bridge.

The only occupant was Rip and he was bent over the main display, intently watching a series of bar graphs. One was increasing slowly.

“Where are we? Where is everyone else?” Len said and he slowly circled the display.

Rip did not look up. “We’ve landed inside a dormant volcano somewhere in the Philippines. It should provide cover for us for a few hours.”

“To do what?”

“With eight people onboard, the Waverider’s replicators need replenishing with fresh water and raw source materials.” He glanced up. “Everyone else is currently outside helping to gather those materials.”

His expression changed to one of concern and he straightened up. Looking critically at Len, he asked, “How are you holding up, Mr. Snart?”

Len smiled, wishing the bruises to his face had been quicker to fade. “Good as gold.”

Rip hesitated, then said sadly, gently. “Mr. Snart, you don’t need to be physically punished every time you make a mistake. Suffering a beating is not a requirement, _a payment_ for someone else’s belief that you made an error.”

Len stared at him, momentarily at a loss that Rip would have the audacity to go there.

Apparently taking Len’s lack of reply as encouragement, he continued, “Some people who grow up with an abusive parent come to think they deserve to be hurt for any failing. Some even learn to enjoy it, thinking the pain is proof the parent cares.”

Len narrowed his eyes and had a sudden desire for the comforting weight of his cold gun in its thigh holster. He slowly walked closer until he was only a foot from Rip. “ _I_ learned to duck and to develop a high tolerance to pain,” he snarled. “That’s not the same as liking it, but I have been known to enjoy dishing it out to those that annoy me. Save your psycho-analysis for someone else.”

Rip’s gaze drifted down at Len’s neck to the very spot that still ached from Mick’s bite. “So…everything’s consensual?”

“Close enough,” he drawled. It was time to either punch him out or change the subject and go on the offensive. He turned and flopped down in a chair. “Tell me what you know of the Vanishing Point. What did they do to Mick there?”

“What has he told you?”

“Something about spending lifetimes being restored. He had some scars and now they’re gone.” He hesitated. “Could he really have been gone for years?”

“Time doesn’t exist there the way it does on Earth.”

Well, _that_ certainly sounded familiar.

“I’m sure they used a tissue regenerator to remove the scars especially if they could interfere with his performance. Were the scars significant to him? If so, they might have removed them to help him forget the events surrounding them.

“You know, he didn’t actually live out lifetimes.   While Gideon is capable of monitoring our dreams, there are other AIs that can manipulate them as well. More than likely as he went through training during the day, they filled his nights with dreams of living and dying. I’m sure they were trying to construct a distance to his past so anything of his old life would not matter to him anymore, like any of his past relationships such as existed between the two of you. Such bonds are an impairment to working for the Time Masters."

Rip closed in on Len and cautiously reached down to use the back of his finger to push Len’s collar back, exposing the bite. “Have you showered since this happened?” Rip leaned in a little closer.

Was it his imagination or was Rip sniffing him? “Yeah,” Len said, pulling away to the side, the chair now a restriction to his movement.  

Rip straightened. “Pity. I assume Mr. Rory brushes his teeth?” At Len’s blank look at the non-sequitur, he added, “If you take his toothbrush to the medbay, Gideon can gather some of his cells for DNA analysis. By methylation of the DNA, Gideon will be able to accurately assess his age within a few weeks and will compare it to his known age.” Rip returned to studying the table display, apparently done with the conversation.  

Len bristled, annoyed by both Rip’s superior tone and the fact that he didn’t know what methylation was. He’d be damned if he’d ask Rip, though. “No toothbrush. The old one was thrown out after I left him behind.”

“Is there perhaps a condom filled with his manly seed?” Rip looked up, intently evaluating Len’s expression. “No? Well, perhaps you can convince him to wear one tonight. Or maybe if he bloodies his knuckles beating on you again, you can collect a sample of his blood.” At Len’s stricken expression, he turned away. “Or maybe you can politely ask him to brush his teeth.”

Len jumped to his feet. “Fuck you, asshole!”

Rip ignored him.

Seething, Len stormed out of the bridge. How dare Rip talk to him that way! Beside, that wasn’t the type of relationship he had with Mick.

Len came to an abrupt stop as he realized that he wasn't sure of that anymore. How much of Mick was truly left inside of Chronos? What type of man was Chronos?

He leaned on the side of the corridor as a sudden wave of nausea swept over him, leaving him chilled and clammy. He didn’t know how much of Mick was left. As Chronos, he was so different, so controlled and grim. Mick knew nearly everything there was to know about Len, all the things Len tried to forget and all the rest of the crap he tried to hide away. If he was more Chronos than Mick, would he use that information against Len? Is that why he was so eager to fight Len but stopped at killing him because he had seen in the past how Len reacted to being beating by his father?

Len shoved the back of his hand against his mouth as his stomach gave a queasy roll because that is exactly how Len had reacted. He had went limp and ceased any efforts to protect himself, hoping that his submission would be enough to stop the one that supposedly cared for him, from beating him to death.

He forced himself to straighten up. He needed to get on top of this, whatever ‘this’ was, but more than that, he wanted to get his cold gun and kill something. In his current frame of mind, he didn’t feel that choosey about what or who, either.

That decided, he walked with purpose to the weapon’s locker where he stored the cold gun. After that, he’d go outside and see what needed destroying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally there is plot complications without graphic smut. Instead, I offer you angst. Enjoy. I love reading your comments if you feel inclined to leave them.


	5. Len Goes Hunting; It Doesn't Turn Out So Well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate spoiling things for people that don't want to be spoiled, but...if you are sensitive to animal attacks, you should look at the end notes.

***

Len stepped out into the brilliant sunshine and straight into a wall of heat and humidity. He blinked rapidly as he waited for his eyes to adjust. He could hear the voices and laughter of his teammates around him and soon he could see them.

The dormant volcano turned out to be a mountainous ridge that circled them and was miles across. A large lake lay in its center and emptied via a reed-lined river flowing past the ship before it spread out through a gap in the mountains.

Closest to Len was Dr. Stein; he was standing next to a wide tube that snaked from the bottom of the ship into the river.  

“Water intake,” Stein offered. “Kendra, Ray and Sara are harvesting coconuts over there for their fat and fiber content,” he said gesturing to a grove of palms up an incline. “While Mr. Rory is teaching Jefferson to run the harvester to gather carbohydrates.”

Downstream from the ship Mick stood next to Jefferson as they directed a small machine hovering above the water, chopping through some dense grassy stuff. Mick was shirtless and his skin glistened with sweat. The muscles of his back and arms rippled with power as he bent down and easily picked up two bales of the grass. He looked so different out here surrounded by wind swept trees, puffy clouds and jagged peaks instead of concrete buildings or a time ship’s sterile interior. Mick was a solid, well-proportioned man and out here in the sun half-naked, he was beautiful, powerful and impressive. Len felt a pang of regret as he wondered what their lives would have been like if they lived someplace simpler.

Len looked away before Mick finished turning towards him. The movement caused a rivulet of sweat to trickle down his back and he was suddenly aware of how hot his black clothing and boots were. “What’s the grassy stuff?”

“Wild rice and sugar cane. The machine bundles it all into bales and lobs them on shore. Mr. Rory has been carrying them back to the ship.” He glanced at Len’s gun. “Will you be hunting for the protein, Mr. Snart?”

Len grimaced. Like he knew anything about hunting for his food beyond choosing which burger joint to pick. “Sure. Why not?” he drawled.   He glanced back at Mick. “I’m feeling murderous anyway.”

He drifted off towards the river, but stopped once he’d gone far enough so Stein wouldn’t try to talk to him again. He considered his options. Protein. That meant critters. There would be fish in the river but how to get them out? Something flew overhead. Where those ducks?

***

Mick piled his carb bale next to all the others inside the cargo bay and then stepped back out to stand next to Stein. He watched Len as Len studied the river bank, his hands on his hips. “What’s he doing?”

“Hunting?”

When Mick started towards Len, Stein called out, “Mr. Snart isn’t in a very good mood.”

“Mr. Snart hasn’t been in a good mood since he joined up with this crew.”

He was only a few feet away when Len drawled, “What do you want, Mick? I’m kinda busy here.”

He stopped beside him. “What’s got your knickers in a twist? Usually you’re in a better mood once you’ve been laid.”

“I woke up and you were gone. You didn’t used to be the love ‘em and leave ‘em type.” He snuck a glance at Mick out of the corner of his eye. “At least when it came to me,” he added. “Just another example of how much you’ve change.”

“You’re pissed because I decided to let you sleep instead of kicking your ass out of bed to come out to slave in the heat with the rest of us?” he growled, raising his voice. An insect bit his neck and he slapped at it, irritated.

And then something happened he hadn’t seen for decades. Len _flinched_. Not a lot; you had to be looking to see it but son of a bitch! Len had worked hard to suppress that reflex and put it behind him. What the hell had Rip done to him in the few hours they were alone on the ship?!

Len covered the slip by turning the move into a step away from Mick. His goggles were around his neck and he busied himself by slipping them up over his eyes. “It’s been nice but if we want duck for dinner I’ve got to go freeze the fast food.”

Mick watched as Len walked down the slope until he reached the edge of the river. Beyond was shallow water and a scattering of reeds. Len bent, picked up a rock and threw it hard at a flock of ducks floating nearby. He had his cold gun up and charged by the time they took flight and flew past him. He held down the trigger and made broad sweeps of the icy stream into the air above him. A number of the birds fell to the earth, flash frozen in mid-flight.

Mick grinned and shook his head. Len was a sharp one. It was too bad they weren’t partners anymore, he thought wistfully. He was remembering more and more of their old life but the details remained distant and foggy. Not only that, but he felt surges of strong emotions strike him at the oddest time, like right now. He felt such pride and ownership as he watched Len walking around gathering up his birds.

He felt so conflicted about him. He knew he wanted to get Len away from Rip. He knew he wanted to quit hurting every time he thought of Len. He knew he should walk away from him but he couldn’t do it. And he knew he needed him for the plan to work.

Reluctantly, he turned and walked back towards Jax and the harvester, slowing a little to allow Sara and her two large bags of coconuts to cross in front of him on her way to the cargo bay.

***

Len sauntered along the shore, tossing his frozen ducks into a general pile away from the water. He waded out to snag one duck that was bobbing about just a few feet away. He thought there had been another one a little further out but now there was only one. Ice cubes float, ducks float, but maybe frozen ducks sink? He shrugged. He had a least a dozen ducks and felt pleased with himself. He sloshed carefully back to firmer ground, glad his boots were high enough to keep the water out. Hadn’t he seen a nature show about all the weird parasites that lived in swamp water?

***

Kendra lay on top of a palm tree, the large, stiff fronds helping to support her weight as she reached round her and pushed the coconuts loose. They fell down where Sara would gather them up and take them to the ship. Ray was working some papaya trees they had spotted further up the hill. He used his suit to fly up, cut the fruit free and fly them to the ship.

She rested for a moment and wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her hand. While the view here was beautiful, the work was dusty and hot. All in all, she preferred working as a barista, where the flash of a smile and the hint of cleavage could earn her big tips.

She let her eyes wander and she spotted Snart by the river. He was dressed in his usual black, with long sleeves even. She smiled; that had to be uncomfortable. Then she frowned as she watched him wade away from the shore to gather his frozen ducks. As he bent down to pull a duck from some reeds, Kendra watched a swirl of water behind him in the river and the furthest duck disappeared. She knew what that would mean if this were the Nile for every child was taught to be wary along the shore, but they were in the Philippines. They didn’t have--

Suddenly, dread gripped her heart. She grabbed two coconuts and pushed off from her perch. Her wings fanned out and with a few flaps, she was flying as rapidly as possible to the river. While a quick current could cause turbulent water, this river was too shallow to have a current. It would be deadly for Snart if her fear was realized.

***

Len bent over and grabbed a duck by its head; the frozen feathers of the wings tended to snap if he tried to pick up the heavy birds by them. A large shadow skimmed over him.

“RUN!” he heard Kendra scream as she flew by.

He dropped his birds and scrambled away from the river, using his hands to help push him forward. The sounds of something huge splashing about erupted behind him. Too close! He pulled his cold gun from his holster and whirled about. His heel caught on a stone and he fell backwards just as an enormous maw lined with curved, pointed teeth yawned in front of him. He swung the gun towards it and fired, just as the jaws closed with a snap on his lower leg. He screamed as the creature jerked powerfully backwards and he lost his grip on the gun as it spun away from him. He was pulled rapidly down the bank and into the river.

***

Mick spun around and ran for Len when he heard Kendra’s warning cry, knowing that whatever was happening, his partner would be at the center of it. It spoke to his bravery that when he saw a monster of a crocodile scrambling up the bank after Len that he only ran faster. He scooped up the cold gun and shot the beast in the shoulders just as it pulled Len into the water. It thrashed from side to side but kept sinking deeper into the river.  

With a wordless howl of rage, he shot again, this time aiming between its eyes. Its head and the muzzle around Len’s leg froze but the tail still whipped wildly around. Deeper into the water it went and Len was pulled under.

He could see Sara skidding to a stop beside him out of the corner of his eye. “Here!” he shouted as he tossed the gun to her. He ran into the water, splashing desperately forward to seize the only part of Lenny he could see; an arm was still flailing above the water. Mick grabbed him about the chest and lifted.

Len’s head surfaced and he twisted about until he had his arms clutched around Mick’s shoulders and waist. His torso bucked and jerked as he coughed, his face pressed into Mick’s chest as he sucked in air instead of water.

The crocodile’s death throes grew stronger and Len was nearly jerked out of Mick’s hold. He dug his fingers around Len’s belt, braced legs and leaned backwards.

Len screamed.

“Haircut!” Mick roared. “Where the hell is Haircut?!”

“I’m here!” Ray landed beside him. “What can I do?”

Len was panting. “Cut it off. Cut it off!” he shouted.

“The crocodile?”

“No! My leg! Don’t wanna drown!”

“Fuck that shit!” Mick growled. “Use your lasers and cut the snout off!” His legs and arms burned with the strain of keeping Len from being pulled deeper in the river.

Ray splashed closer and with his arm’s weapon array only a foot distance, started slicing though the head just in front of its eyes. Chucks of ice exploded, sending shards shooting through the air and when the laser hit water, great bursts of steam erupted. When Ray made the final cut, Mick fell backwards into the water taking Len with him.

Len did not let go and it took a few extra tries for Mick to get his feet under him again. Sputtering, he clambered through the mud and water for dry ground. When he was almost out, he straightened up, Len still clinging to him. Ray rushed forward and lifted Len’s leg, made much heavier with the crocodile jaw frozen around it.

“Here!” said Ray. “Give him here and I’ll fly him to the ship.” He tried to work his hand in between Len and Mick’s chest.

“Like hell you will!” Mick felt fury surge through him. He had been so frightened and now the adrenalin spike wanted a target for his rage, even knowing that Ray didn’t deserve it.

Dr. Stein stepped forward. “Jefferson, why don’t you help Mr. Rory carry Mr. Snart into the ship?” Stein laid his hand on Ray’s arm and gently tugged it away. “Dr. Palmer, I think it might be for the best if you use your laser to cut off the tail?”

Jefferson cautiously stepped forward and supported Len’s leg as Ray gave ground, his expression confused. He let himself be turned by Dr. Stein who continued to talk. “Ms. Lance, perhaps you can use the cold gun to guard us as we work? This is an Indo-Pacific crocodile or Crocodylus porosus, and a monster one at that. It must be twenty feet long! Though why a big male is this far from the estuary is a mystery. Dr. Palmer, if you fly above it, you could cut the tail free and then perhaps use bursts from your weapons to push it towards the shore? Between the tail and those ducks, certainly there is bound to be enough protein here for….”

“Doesn’t he ever shut up?” Len muttered, his voice tight with pain. He still had his arms clutched around Mick and his head resting on his shoulder. Mick had had no choice but to shift his hold into a bridal carry. Jax kept paced beside them holding the block of frozen reptile. He couldn’t take his eyes off the huge teeth that jutted out from the jaws.

“Not that I’ve notice. Just a little further, Lenny. We’re almost to the ship and you’ll be feeling better in no time,” he soothed. If he was honest with himself, he was trying to comfort himself as much as the shaking man in his arms.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for something completely different. 
> 
> I just had a hankering to see Mick save Len from a monster crocodile.
> 
> Enjoy! Comments are greatly appreciated!


	6. Drama in the Med Bay

“Slowly now,” Mick said as he lowered Len onto the treatment bed in the medbay.

Jax followed his movements perfectly but even still when Len’s injured leg was straightened by laying on the firm pad beneath it, the pain it caused made the thief pant through his gritted teeth, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. They carefully removed their hands and he let out a low groan.

Len never groaned so he must be hurting like a sonavbitch. “Gideon, give him something for the pain, then stabilize, scan and treat.”

Jax backed away, still staring at the crocodile jaws frozen around Len’s lower leg. “I’ll go get you some towels or something, k?” he said as he quickly slipped out the doorway.

As the bands of the diagnostic scanner light slowly moved down Len, his body relaxed and his expression smoothed out. Mick glanced at the wall monitor and watched as areas began to light up with damage. The frantic beeping of the heart monitor slowed down to a more normal pace as the pain drugs took effect.

After a few moments, Mick asked, “You feeling better?”

Len blinked slowly, his pupils huge and dark. “Yeah,” whispered. “I’m chillin’ like a villain.”

Mick raised his eyebrows. “That’s good. It seems Gideon’s giving you the good stuff,” he said and went back to studying the display. There were a few strange specks sprinkled about but the main damage was to his left knee. The area below the knee was still obscured by the croc jaws. “Gideon, when can I remove the jaws from his leg?”

“The foreign object is frozen around Mr. Snart’s foot. Heat is being applied and it should be defrosted enough for removal in approximately ten minutes.”

While Mick waited, he stared at Len and thought about how close he’d come to losing him. Maybe he wanted to walk away from Len, and maybe he wanted to hurt him still for abandoning him, but he had felt crushed with fear when he thought Len was about to be wrenched out of his life forever. None of those desires meshed with any of the others so he would heed the strongest of his emotions for now. He would stay with Len and see him fixed up.

Jax entered quietly and set the towels down on the second treatment chair. “I’m just gonna go back outside and see if they need help.” He waited for a few beats but when Mick remained silent, he left again.

Minutes passed and lights flickered over Len as Gideon worked. The thief lifted an arm and rested it over his eyes as they waited.

Sara quietly entered the room and laid the cold gun on the floor next to the wall. “The others are taking a lunch break,” she said, coming to a stop at Len’s bed, opposite Mick. “They’re all a little freaked still.” She frowned. “Shouldn’t he come out of those wet clothes?” Without waiting for an answer, she flicked a knife out of her clothing and made a bold slice up the center of his shirt. “Grab a towel, Mick. Let’s get him dry.”

It only took a few seconds for Mick to retrieve a towel from behind him, but when he turned back, she had filleted Len of the rest of his clothing. He lay there nude, his skin damp and pale against the shreds of his black clothing. His left knee was multiple shades of red and twice as big as his right.

Sara studied her work. “Pretty nice—for a guy,” she said, grudgingly. “But I thought he’d be more marked up.”

“From the croc?” asked Mick.

“From you.”

Mick frowned. “Meaning?”

She shrugged. “When someone goes out in 100 degree heat wearing long sleeves, that’s usually a good sign they’re hiding something. You did beat him up pretty badly recently; it’s not beyond the realm of possibility that you were still taking your vengeance out of his hide.”

He scowled at her. Len’s need to keep his body covered was his story to share, not Mick’s. “It’s an old habit. Besides, I haven’t touched him since I got out of the holding cell.”

“Oh really?” said Sara, her blatant skepticism all but calling Mick out as a liar. She very pointedly looked at Len’s neck. The bite and the surrounding hickey was a bright spot of red amongst all the black and white.

“I haven’t touched him _in anger_ then.”

“I can hear you,” Len said softly, his forearm back over his eyes.

Sara jerked the towel out of Mick’s hands. “Here, log roll him towards you; I’ll get rid of his clothes and wipe him and the bed down.”

He tilted Len and she worked quickly. Len gave one ‘ow’ but it was vague and distant.

She paused as she bundled the rags together, looking closely at them. “Gideon, do you know what these little brown things are?”

“Yes, Ms. Lance. They are leeches. I have administered a broad spectrum of medications to treat the variety of parasites that Mr. Snart has been exposed to.”

Sara’s face scrunched up in distaste and she used the towel to wrap around the wet black rags. “I’ll take this stuff to the recycler and bring him back a robe” she gathered up his mangled clothes.

Mick looked down at his body in horror and his fingers flew as they unbuckled and unzipped his trousers. Hopping foot to foot, he pulled his boots off and shucked off his pants. He dusted off any and all debris he spotted on his skin.

“What the hell, Mick?” spat Sara angrily. “Do you think I’m going to let you climb on him when he’s drugged up and hurt? What the hell is wrong with you?”

Mick froze, surprised she thought he would consider such a thing. But he was never one to waste time denying anything he was accused of so instead he decided to accept that she would protect Len if she felt he needed it. He grunted thoughtfully. “That’s sweet you’re going to guard his virtue. Trouble is you’re about thirty years too late.”

She glanced down at Len, shocked. “How old was he-- Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

“I can hearrrrr you!” Len sang, loudly, and wasn’t that the mildest level of irritation he’d ever heard from Len.

She looked back at Mick, irritated. “What are you doing then?”

“What I’m doing is there’s something in my pants!”

She shot him a look of disgust.

“No, not like that. I thought I felt something moving on the back of my thigh.” He turned about, presenting her with his backside. “Is there anything back there?”

“You mean besides your big hairy ass?”

Len giggled. He only did that when he was high and that was something he almost never did.

“I mean like ticks! Leaches!” he growled, getting frustrated. 

“Oh,” she said, peering closer. “No, you’re good. But I gotta tell you, this is exactly why I prefer girls!” She bent down and added his discarded clothing to the wad in her arms. “Gideon, start working on a new set of pants for Mick, and a soft fluffy robe for Len.” She looked at Mick. “What color does he like? Nevermind. Gideon? Make it a black one, ankle length, with fuzzy slippers to match,” she said as she exited the room.

“Yes, Ms. Lance.”

“I can hear you,” Len muttered, barely audible and with a hint of resignation.

“Mr. Rory, I believe it will now be possible to remove the foreign object from Mr. Snart. Please remove the top half first. I will treat those punctures before we move on to the second set of injuries.”

“Right.” He carefully got a firm grip on the snout with his hands on either side of it and lifted slowly.

Len moaned but he sounded more relieved than in pain.

“You okay there, boss?” Mick asked, watching as a nozzle snaked up from the side of the bed and spray a brownish liquid over the punctures in his skin and his boot. The light from the scanner panel changed colors and grew more intense.

“M’fine,” he said softly.

“Gideon, what’s wrong with his knee?” Mick had noticed a treatment beam had been pointed at it on high since the beginning.

“A majority of Mr. Snart’s tendons and ligaments in his knee have been torn or ruptured. It will take at least an hour to complete repairs.”

“M’fine,” Len said, his voice more slurred.

“What the hell is going on here?!” demanded Rip as he swept into the room. “Where are your clothes?!”

Mick could feel his hackles rising. “They got wet and infested with leeches when Klepto here nearly got himself stolen away by a man-eating crocodile.”

“Good god!” Rip strode to the bedside and his gaze traveled down all of Len’s exposed body until they stopped at his lower leg. “I can see why Mr. Snart is without clothing but not why you are.”

“Because I went into the water after him,” Mick said as he reached over to snag a clean towel from the other chair. He tossed it over Len’s groin and stared hard at Rip. “Stop staring at his dick.”

The heart rate monitor sped up and Len covered his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Not fine anymore,” he muttered.

“Leave,” Mick ordered.

Rip glanced hungrily back down at Len and he licked his lips. “He could do so much better than you,” he spat. “You know his past and use his learned behaviors against him.”

Mick stepped around the bed until he was looming over Rip. “Is that what you did earlier today? Did you bring up his past? Is that why he was upset?”

They stared hard at each other and even though Mick had been taught to control his anger at the Vanishing Point, he could still feel his rage rising up like molten magma through a lava tube. “Leave or I will throw your ass out of here.”

The sound of Len’s heart rate increased even more and his arms flailed weakly about as he tried to push himself up right. And then just like a puppet whose strings were cut, he flopped back down and the heart monitor’s beat returned to a slow steady pace.

“An additional sedative has been administered to treat Mr. Snart’s sudden agitation. Now would be an excellent time to remove the rest of the foreign object and also the remaining boot.”

Still scowling, Rip said, “I’ll be on the bridge. Gideon, keep me informed of Mr. Snart’s condition.” He paused, looking back down at Len once again. “You should just let me have him.”

Mick watched him go, wanting nothing more than to go after him and slam his head into a wall panel. He took a few deep breaths and then a few more.

After a long minute, he finally felt in control of himself again. He worked carefully and followed Gideon’s instructions. Soon the leg was bare and Mick stood back, watching as the wounds were cleaned and began to close up with the med bays accelerated healing rays. He saw patches of redden skin that was the first sign of frostbite on his the foot, but soon that was gone, too. After ten minutes, Len’s skin was whole and healthy and the only ongoing treatment was on the swollen knee. No wonder Len had screamed back there in the river; the croc had been halfway to tearing his leg off.

Now that Len was taken care of, there was something Mick needed to do. He sat down on the second treatment chair and said, “Gideon, take a sample of my blood. I want it checked for all kinds of contaminants. Make a list of all the drugs you find.”

After the blood was drawn, he drifted back to Len and stared at him. Laying there naked and asleep, he looked younger and so incredibly desirable. He wanted to reach out and touch him but he didn’t. Without the protection of his heavy clothes, Len was too exposed, too vulnerable and Mick knew Len hated to be seen that way.

Mick had noticed the avarice in Rip’s expression when he looked at Len. He shouldn’t care but he did. His conditioning by the Time Masters was done specifically to prevent him from caring. His conditioning said it was alright to fuck Len but he must not care for him. His conditioning said he shouldn’t mind if a Time Master wanted to use Len, too. Time Masters were to be obeyed in all things. Mick should just walk away from Len, the betrayer that he was, and let Rip have him.

But those thoughts caused Mick’s heart to pound and his fists to clench. He felt intense distress at the images those thoughts conjured--of Rip shoving Len into a mattress and mounting him. He frowned when he realized that particular image was from his own memory from the night before when _he_ had held Len down and fucked him hard. Why had he done that? He knew Len didn’t like being treated that way.

He was confused and that more than anything made him positive he’d been given drugs at the Vanishing Point. Authorities were all the time trying to modify Mick’s behavior with drugs so he was aware of the unexpected changes that would come over him. Mick knew his normal state well for there was no confusion there and everything was very simple: he had fire and he had Leonard Snart. He didn’t _need_ anything else.

Mick adjusted the towel that covered Len’s dick. He fanned it out so it covered him from nipples to mid-thigh. He felt strongly that right now, all he wanted was that no one should see Len like this except for himself. Mick had earned that right by being at his side for years and for protecting him from every threat he could. Len _had_ betrayed him but Len never claimed he was perfect and he never expected Mick to be perfect.

His stomach growled. Shit. He was hungry and thirsty. And naked. He grunted, dissatisfied with his failure to make headway on his feelings. Bending down, he said, “Lenny? I’ll be back in five. I just gotta go get some clothes and stuff.”

***

When Len no longer heard Mick’s footsteps, he spoke. “Gidyon?” His voice was slurred but understandable. “Test me and Mick for STDs. You know STDs?” ?” Len knew Mick well, but what had he been up to while being Chronos for ‘lifetimes?’ He’d wondered if there was another reason, a hidden reason for Mick to demand sex without protection. 

“Yes, Mr. Snart.”

“An’ do a DNA metaldaytion, a methylnation….” He paused, trying his hardest to remember what Rip had said.

“A methylation test?”

“Yeah…do that on Mick’s blood.”

“Certainly Mr. Snart. Is there anything else you require?”

“Just fix me up, Gidyon. I need to be at m’ best….”

If there were more words, Len never said them. Free of pain and dosed with drugs to relax him, he finally surrendered to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know other countries see the episodes weeks later. Nevertheless, I just have to say I am upset by ep 15. Very upset.
> 
> Thank you for reading. I love your comments if you feel inclined to leave them.


	7. Len and Mick talk; Turns Out They Do Have Feelings But It's Not As Helpful As You Would Think.

Len slowly became awake. He felt…odd, disjointed, like his brain was in neutral. Opening his eyes, he found the light was dim and he was in the med bay. Med bay?!

A rush of memories flooded through him and he jolted upright, his eyes going immediately to his left leg. It was still there, the skin unblemished and whole when it should be mangled. Panic surged over him; he hadn’t lost another limb had he? “Is that mine?! Is it--” His vision was flooded with flickering spots and a wave of dizziness overcame him.

***

“Easy there.” Mick’s voice was deep, soothing and coming from above him. Len opened his eyes to find he was lying down again. The surface beneath him was shifting, transforming itself from a bed into a chair. “Go a little slower this time.”

A soft, warm covering fell as he sat up and he caught it automatically. Thick, black terry cloth. It now lay pooled on his lap, his bare torso and legs all the more exposed by the contrast. Yeah, he remembered that, too; everyone and their mothers coming by for a peepshow. He glanced up at Mick, unable to keep the accusation and betrayal off his face. Mick knew how he felt about his privacy; even if he still had a score to settle with Len, it was a new low to let that happen to a man who had been his partner for close to thirty years.

Mick snorted. “And that’s what you’re worried about? Jax couldn’t look at anything else but the croc mouth attached to your leg, Sara was _helping_ you and…yeah, I should have expected Hunter would come bursting in here. I should have done more to keep him out. I’m sorry. I was distracted.”  


Hmm, distracted by saving Len’s life; as excuses went, that was a good one. Len stared at his toes, all ten of them. He wiggled them and sighed. Mick hadn’t stooped to being a dick after all. He cleared his throat.

“So, how much of this is original equipment?” he said, gesturing to his leg.

“It matters to you now? I was starting to get the impression you think body parts are optional. What the hell were you thinkin’, Snart?” Mick said, his annoyance plain in his tone.

Len lowered his eyes. “When I went under the water, I thought that was it; I was gonna die. Dying’s one thing but getting eaten is….” He looked up and met Mick’s gaze. “Thanks for saving me. I know you didn’t have to.” He looked down again, unwilling to see Mick’s expression.

There was a long pause. “You think I coulda stood there and watched you die?”

Len shrugged. “You’re mad at me; madder than you’ve ever been before. With cause,” he added before Mick could. “And you’re different now. The Mick I knew could never have threatened Lisa like that.”

Mick’s grunt sounded displeased but he didn’t pursue that line of thought. “Your leg, it’s the same one you had when you woke up today,” he said brusquely. “You can ask Gideon to explain what was done to fix you up. Why are you concerned?”

Len sighed heavily. “You’ll need to know anyway,” he said reluctantly. “My replacement hand isn’t right.” He held it up and stared at it. “It’s clumsy. I haven’t been able to palm anything without dropping it. Apparently muscle memory is a thing. I just wanted to know if I would need to retrain the leg, too, while I’m doing my hand.”

Mick held out his hand and after a pause, Len placed his right hand into his. Mick tilted his head as he examined the hand. He turned it over and rubbed the palm with his thumb. “What have you tried?”

“Cheating at cards. I only tried that once it was so embarrassing. I spend all my time picking up the quarter when I practice the coin knuckle roll.” He paused, then finished painfully. “I tried lifting a candy bar from Raymond and it dropped on the floor. He picked it up, handed it to me and said he was always happy to share his snacks if I was hungry.”

“Ouch.”

When the silence stretched into what Len fancied was pity, he tried to pull his hand back but Mick tightened his hold.

“Why did you do it?”

Len glanced up and was surprised to see Mick staring at him intensely. “Do what?”

“Freeze your hand off. You had to know it would cripple you. It was because I threatened Lisa, wasn’t it?”

Len tried again to pull his hand out of Mick’s grip but was unsuccessful. He took a moment to collect himself. “First, let go of my hand,” he bit out. Nothing else was gonna happen until Mick released his hand.

Mick’s eyebrows rose in surprise but he did let go immediately this time. Len wondered if he finally remembered how much Len hated to be restrained. That too, was a dad thing. After Len was old enough to figure out getting his hair shorn off would deprive his father of his favorite handhold, the bastard started using his handcuffs on Len to prevent him from escaping. Len was able to not freak out when he got cuffed by the police but at other times when he was feeling threatened, not so much.

Len settled his hands quietly in his lap and he kept his gaze on them. “Have you ever noticed that everything that truly matters has a price? Like all sparkly things, the higher one values it, the higher the cost?”

“So like a fox you chewed your paw off to save the crew,” Mick said, the resentment was plain in his voice to one that knew him as well as Len did.

Len shook his head. “No. Chronos was good, but not good enough to survive both the team and a nest of assassins.” He was quiet for a few beats as he stared at his hands. “That I would need to pay for your life with my hand—the hand I depend upon for all my best thievering—well, it made sense. My right hand for the friend who was my right hand.” He shrugged. “It was a fair trade,” he said sadly. “I accepted that.”

“Then why didn’t you come with me?” Mick burst out. “Why would you choose the team over me? Why couldn’t you have just _trusted_ me?”

Len locked his eyes on Mick’s. “Pirates, Mick! You invited _pirates_ onto our ship. And where I might have been willing to roll the dice that you had a plan that _might_ have included me, I couldn’t risk what a gang of _pirates_ would do to the girls. That they would space Stein, Jax and Raymond would be a given unless you had bargained for their safety. Had you bargained for their safety? Had you put protections in place for Kendra and Sara?” Len was still so angry about that whole clusterfuck, from his mishandling of Mick in 2046, to the clash of the team’s personalities, to the pirate incident that forced Len to maroon Mick, and to the Time Masters fucking up his friend’s head.

“No. No, I didn’t have any deals with the pirates beyond them taking _me and you_ back to 2016,” Mick said, his jaw clenched in anger. “You were the only thing that mattered to me even if you were being an arrogant asshole.” He paused and took a deep, calming breath. “I can see now where I went wrong,” he continued, his voice easing. “You’re too soft. It’s what kept you from killing me, what made you protect the team. It’s the same thing that made you step in front of your sister and take the blows meant for her.”

Len was breathing fast, his chest constricting from the intense feelings of pain and hurt. Mick’s word wounded him to his core. “You think I’m too weak? Too soft?!”

Mick stepped closer. “Yeah, I do when you challenge me to a fist fight knowing that I’m gonna leave you a bloody smear on the floor. Was that just so I’d have an excuse to escape? That you could hand me my vengeance _as a gift_ and be free of you? Len, you need to stop steppin’ in front of speeding freight trains.”

“What do you care? You’ll be leaving as soon as you can angle it.” He could feel his eyes burning but he’d be damned if he’d cry in front of Mick.

Mick shook his head. “Maybe I will but listen to this. This thing that I call softness is the same thing that let you care for a monster like me. To some it’s weakness, to others it’s strength. It’s easy to burn down a house and walk away; it takes strength to stay and fight the fire.”

Len swallowed hard and looked away. He was too emotional right now to deal with all this. Despite what Mick said, he was weak. He was brimming over with emotions and emotions made a man weak.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew Len’s gaze to the door. Jax strutted in and immediately froze, probably from the palpable tension in the room. “Hey,” he greeted cautiously. “I was in the galley and Gideon asked me to bring this drink to Mr. Snart.” He stepped forward uneasily into the silent room and offered what looked like a thick milk shake to Len. “She said that you needed to drink all of this before you left the med bay and that it would help you recover faster.”

Len took the glass. “Thanks.”

Jax stared at Len’s foot, and then glanced furtively around the med bay. “Glad to see your leg looking better. Where’s—“ He jumped back when he spotted something under Len’s chair. “Oh, shoot. There it is.” He backed towards the door. “Yeah. Look, I can see I interrupted something so I’ll just, ah, leave. Call me if you need anything,” he said as he sped out the door.

Len couldn’t stop the beginnings of a smile. “Is that where—“

“Yeah, your keepsake's under your chair,” Mick interrupted. “Do you wanna see it?”

“Not now. Maybe later,” he said, taking a sip of his drink. “Tastes like a strawberry milk shake.” He was hoping Mick would take the hint and let him change the subject.

“I think Gideon might have figured out you’re partial to strawberries. Not much is hidden when an AI monitors everything that happens in the ship,” Mick said, his stare long and unblinking.

Len sipped his drink and reran everything they had just said in his head. What could Mick have said that was more for Hunter’s ears than his own?

Mick stepped back until he was sitting in the other treatment chair. “When you’re finished with your tonic, I’ll help you to your room. I’m sure you’ll want a shower and to get dressed.”

Len looked up sharply at Mick. Was he planning on speaking privately to Len? Did he have another way to talk securely that didn’t involve sex? He looked hard at Mick and tried to figure out what he was thinking but like so many times lately, Mick was a closed book. Len frowned and went back to drinking his shake. He’d deal with it no matter what. Despite what Mick said, he wasn’t weak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took awhile. I had to spend some time reading other writer's fanfic to find comfort for what happened on the show. 
> 
> This chapter was gonna be longer but I decided it was better to post this and get back to writing smut. Smut in the shower--which is what this chapter was supposed to be, but the boys wanted to talk about their feelings. Aaaaand we see how well that went.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments and kudos. Encouragement really does help and is deeply appreciated!


	8. A Shower Can Fix A Variety of Problems

Len strode down the corridor, his black bathrobe tied tightly around his waist. Mick followed after him, admiring the way it highlighted his broad shoulders and lean hips as the fabric swayed to his determined steps. He didn’t react when Mick followed him into his room but he did pause by the bed, his eyes lowered, obviously waiting for some direction from Mick.

The thief was quiet and completely still. It was the type of stillness Mick knew well, the type of stillness Len used to become invisible as he worked out his options. He had learned this to survive as a child from a father who taught him he was weak to care, that emotions would be used against him—and then did that very thing to drive home the point every time he leverage harm to his daughter to control his son. Len learned to hide his emotions away and pretend he didn’t have any. Mick knew they were still there, tumultuous and vibrant but banked away, like the fiery embers of a campfire buried under a blanket of snow. He pretended Len was a cold bastard to soothe the man’s pride and in truth, he was to almost everyone. Mick liked that there was fire inside Len; it sealed the deal they were a matched pair. If he had to put up with endless cold puns, it was a small price to pay. Had been a small price to pay. Is? Will be?

The swirl of Mick’s confused feelings itched as they tried to break free of the Time Master’s programming. They’d attempted to burn Mick’s emotions away and leave nothing but coldness in his soul, but Mick could feel warmth of those buried deep emotions whenever he got close to Len. At first it was vengeance and anger and he held those close because they were so much better than that frozen coldness. Now he felt softer emotions when he looked at him and it was like setting a glass of water in front of a man who knew nothing but thirst. He knew the answer to his problems were in front of him if he were willing enough to go there.

His answer stood there seemingly calm and quiescent but Mick knew better; he’d seen the hurt in Len’s face when he had told him he was too soft. Mick hadn’t meant it as the insult Len took it as—it was just a fact--but the thief’s dad had worked hard to beat any signs of compassion out of his son. Self-interest, greed and obedience were what Lewis wanted instead. To Len soft equaled weak, which equaled humiliation, pain, loss and death.

Mick circled around and stopped in front of him, just inside of Len’s personal bubble of defended space. “I was serious about the shower,” he said quietly. “We were both submerged in leech infested water. I was thinking we could wash each other’s backs and pick the bugs off. But first, give me your hands.” He held out his own and waited.

Len eyes flashed up at him through lowered lashes, but Mick expected that. Len was protective of his hands. It’s why he preferred to use his cold gun to slug his enemies—and friends--as it protected his fingers from the brutality of a fist fight and all those bruised knuckles and broken fingers. Every good pickpocket Mick knew was fussy about their hands. If he could offer Len some comfort about them, then he would. He raised his eyebrows and wiggled his fingers.

His expression stony, Len slipped his hands into Mick’s.

Mick ignored him and studied the hands. The right one was slightly lighter in color which meant that Len must actually get some sun at some point. While all the fingers were slender, the knuckles of the left were slightly larger, the reverse of what was true for right handed people.   He shifted his grip until he was able to gently bend the fingers backwards. He cracked the knuckles on the left then the right. The popping from the left side was definitely louder.

“Why did you do that?” Len asked quietly.

“Your right hand might be in need of a little training, but remember this: this hand has never been injured and the joints are pristine. It should end up working better for you than the original once you’ve broken it in.”

Len eyed him out of the corner of his eyes, his brows furrowed as he tried to puzzle out the double meaning that he sensed in Mick’s words.

Mick grunted and released his hands, turning away. “Of course, that’s not to say that if something’s worn it should be thrown away. Sometimes a few repairs will make it better than ever, like a favorite pair of jeans.”

He walked into the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went. “Gideon? Shower. Three degrees hotter than body temperature. Small particle size, gentle velocity.” He stepped into the enclosure and used the liquid soap from the wall mount to start lathering up his chest and arms. He soaped around his neck and ran sudsey fingers over his scalp and face. He put his face into the water and used his hands to sluice off the suds. Pouring more soap into his palm, he reached down and soaped his genitals while he turned to face the door.

Len had stopped in the doorway and was watching him, his gaze leaving Mick’s face to roam over Mick’s chest and lower. Mick pulled at his thickening organ as his felt his arousal increase. Anticipation pooled hot and liquid in his gut and he spread his legs a little more, cupping his balls, feeling the sac tighten up. He ducked his head under the spray and rinsed off.

Len untied the robe and shrugged out of it, tossing it off to the side. Mick stepped back to give Len room as he slipped under the spray, the thief’s expression still closed off.

“Just in time to do my back,” Mick said as he turned away from him.

He heard a wet slurp as Len rub soap between his hands then two cool hands were gliding smoothly over his shoulders. Cold hands on Len meant he was stressed.

“Just how big are these leeches?” Len drawled.

“From what I saw crawling around on your clothes, they were brown and about an inch long.”

The hands paused.

“Gideon treated you for them while she was doing your leg. You’re probably fine but I’ll give you the once over when you’re done with me.”

The hands restarted but there movement was more clinical as Len took his task seriously. Maybe he thought Mick had made up the threat of leeches just to get him in the shower. Apparently he didn’t remember everything that happened while he was being treated.

When Len got to his gluts, Mick leaned forward against the shower wall, the angle making it easier for Len to work.

“Thanks,” Len said. He deftly slid a soapy questing hand down Mick’s cleft, but lingered as he ran the pad of his thumb over Mick’s hole, circling it softly.

Mick felt a frisson of fire up his body at the touch and he suddenly remembered the pleasure Len could bring to him using his clever fingers. He tried to recall if he’d ever let Snart fuck him. It seemed like he had but couldn’t quite remember anything specific. He didn’t feel adverse to it but at the same time, right now, he just… _wanted_. He wanted Len near. He wanted to hurt him, to protect him, to take him away and keep him for himself but over all he wanted control over him. That was the one core desire that all the other impulses sprung from. He shook his head at the conflicting urges and settled for what was before him, what was his plan. “I don’t think you’ll find any leeches there.” He wanted to talk privately to Len and for that he’d need to get him in a certain position.

“Probably not. It seems as tight as ever,” he said, deadpan, and moved on.

As he soaped Mick’s legs, his actions were similar to a police pat down. Ah well, you go with what’s familiar, Mick thought, smiling.

The hands withdrew. “Done. No leeches.”

Mick withdrew to the corner of the shower and gave Len room to soap and rinse to his heart’s content. He used his time to admire the view. Len was nearly as tall as Mick, his shoulders perhaps a bit broader but his frame graced with lean, sleek muscles better suited for speed and flexibility. The soap suds clung in intriguing patterns around the swell of muscles and the hard nub of nipples that informed Mick the thief was already feeling aroused himself.

When Len backed into the spray and let it rinse off the back of his head, the water flowed in sheets around his neck, forming a little waterfall where his collar bone was dimpled on one side from an old break that was never treated. His forearms had the most scars, all clearly defensive in nature. Of course, the smallest of scars had all faded away, leaving only the bigger ones to tell their tales of broken beer bottles, belts and thrown objects. At least the damage done to his upper lip had been treated by a plastic surgeon that was competent enough so all that remained of what had probably been a lip torn in half was a barely noticeable, straight scar from the bottom of his nose through his upper lip.

Suddenly, Mick was aware Len had quit moving and was simply staring at him; he always seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to anyone noticing his scars.

Decisively, Len turned and presented his back to him. “Your turn.” There were more scars back here but Mick made a point running his soapy hands over them as if they weren’t. He made quick work of cleaning the rest of Len then got another palm full of soap. This futuristic stuff wasn’t caustic like regular soap and was slick to the touch. He circled Len’s entrance twice and then pushed in through the tightness.

Len jerked, arching his back in surprise. He brought his hands up against the wall in front of him to brace himself as Mick worked his middle finger in and out. “I thought we’d get to this,” he said, staggering a little. He bumped one foot out to get better balance.

“You thought right, genius,” Mick said, adding another finger, stretching and massaging his entrance. Soon the ring of muscle was relaxed enough and Mick quickly lathered himself up and push his dick in.

The thief stiffened as Mick slid into place then grunted. “I think you’ve forgotten the finer points of foreplay since you’ve been gone.”

Mick slipped an arm around Len’s waist and took a firm handhold of his shoulder. Len had no choice put follow Mick’s direction as he was half lifted and manhandled until both their heads were under the spray. Mick hooked his chin over his shoulder and whispered in his ear. “Surveillance can’t pick us up in here as long as we’re quiet.”

“That line is never going to replace the ol’ ‘come up to my place to see my etchings’ you know,” he said, fumbling as he found new placement for his hands on the wall.

Mick gave Len a couple of slow rolls with his hips to test their positions. He reset his feet and settled in to give Len a long, slow screw.

“Shut up and listen. The Time Masters, they think nothing of kidnapping someone as long as they are irrelevant to the timeline. That’s how they fill their ranks. So if Rip likes to take people with him as some sort of ‘companion’ they don’t give a shit. These companions all disappear according to the stories the Hunters tell. He’s smooth and charming, feeds them a line that they all fall for and off they go, never to return home again. He could be using them up like Kleenexes and throwing them away on his reckless, idiotic plans or he could be a serial killer.” He slowly pushed into Len again and tried hard not to notice how good Len felt beneath his hands and around his dick, and how good Len made him feel.

“And the Time Masters are okay with that as long as he picks the right people. It’s only become an issue lately because of his obsession with Savage. Originally Savage’s attack left his wife paralyzed and their son with third degree burns over half of his body. But as Rip tried to stop it, Savage became focused on them and made them specific targets until now he goes after Rip’s family like a shark to a kill. And because Rip can’t stop, he’s had to watch them die hundreds of times. The guilt and loneliness are destroying him. He used to recruit regular folk but now he’s after the smart ones, the dangerous ones. It’s possible he still thinks he has a chance of helping his family, but all that seems to be happening these days are that the companions are getting wasted. We’re talking dozens, by the way.”

No longer able to ignore the inviting curve of Len’s neck, he paused his info dump and kissed his nape. The marks he’d left before had been healed by Gideon. Yeah, no, he wasn’t gonna let that go and he got to work sucking, kissing and gnawing. He liked it when he saw the others notice the marks and he loved it when he saw them look away, their expressions plainly broadcasting their speculations and lust.

“You think if Rip finds out you’ve told me this, he’ll kill you? Kill me? Kill us all?” Len reached down to take himself in hand.

Mick quickly slid his arms under Len’s and braced his hands on the wall, the move effectively blocking Len from reaching his dick. “No, you don’t. You don’t get to come until I allow it.”

Len braced his forearms on the wall and huffed. “This is getting old, Mick.”

“You think we’re even already?” he growled, feeling a surge of anger.

Len sighed. “No.”

“Damned right!” He shoved forward with the next thrust and flattened Len against the wall and he pinned him there with his chest, fucking into him more vigorously. “Here’s the problem,” he said, reducing his voice to a whisper again. “Rip could be having sex with his companions, we’d never know. Maybe after he finally does fuck ‘em he feels guilty about betraying Miranda and kills them. I know that you’re smart and you’re pretty and you’ve caught his eye. I’ve seen him watch you when you’re not looking. You’re hot, Snart, even when you’re just walking down the hallway with that damn sexy walk of yours. The only one on this ship I haven’t seen watching your ass is Jax—“

“—I can handle them. I can handle myself!” Len growled but Mick just talked right over him.

“-- Rip though, I can smell the hunger on him. I can see he would nail you into the nearest wall if he thought he could get away with it.”

“Like you’re doing now,” Len said, his body jerking upwards with each shove from Mick’s hips.

“That’s right. Using an irrelevant to blow off a little steam is completely approved of by the Time Masters. Rip wants me to let him have you. That’s the hierarchy in the Vanishing Point, you know. The Time Masters get whatever, _who ever_ they want and he wants you, snowflake.”

“You gotta plan?”

“Yeah. Keep everyone alive until I figure out what _I_ want.”

“That’s your plan?”

“They wiped out all my feelings and all the memories that went with them, burned them to ash until I couldn’t stand the flames any more. I’m working at a disadvantage here, but do you know why I’m such a good hunter, Snart? They left all the memories that had to do with fighting and aggression. All my memories of watching you plan heists and of fighting beside you are still with me. Your strategies are the reason I’m the best hunter there is.”

“—We were a team, Mick.”

“--but that’s not my point. I want to get my memories back, all of them. When I’m near you, I remember more, I remember being more than a killer. For now that’s what I want. And I need you alive and with me to do that.” As he spoke, he reset his stance and started to fuck him harder, feeling his balls draw up tight as the heat pooled in his gut and his toes started to curl from the intensity filling his body.

Len turned his face to the side and Mick stared at the profile just inches away. His brow was pinched and his jaw tense, probably from pleasure because if there was any pain Len wouldn’t let it show. With his eyes were nearly closed, those dark lashes lay in a demure crescent on his cheek. It always made him look so compliant, so _yielding_. And then the bastard smiled, the corners of his lips curling ever so slightly. Mick felt the charge of a jolt as he remember the exhilaration he felt when he saw his partner cocky and confident and he knew the world lay at their feet. It pushed Mick over and he came hard, shouting; he pounded a fist on the shower wall as his passion boiled over, too much for him to contain. He strained forward as his seed was ejected deep inside Len and he felt the satisfaction from the oldest, most primal form of ownership a being could have. The moment stretched, shifting into the realm of timelessness he’d gotten used to existing in but instead of empty he felt complete. This, being pressed against Len, being inside his lover filled him with so many feelings all of them hot and pulsating, the colors of his soul now vibrant neon instead of faded sepia. This moment, this feeling was searing a home into his brain—or more like revealing that this feeling, this memory already had a home there and he was just aware of it again. He stared at Len’s smug face and felt the water falling in a warm, gentle spray across his back and felt more like himself than he had for ages.

He felt like Mick Rory again.

Len hadn’t flinched when Mick struck the wall next to his head. He was used to Mick’s passion, the essence of which was a fiery unpredictability that frightened everybody away except for Len who had somehow always felt at ease around his volatile partner. Mick still marveled at the balls that it took for him to open Mick’s cell and march right into Mick’s fists. Had he not thought that Mick would kill him? Had he not cared? Or did he still think the flames of Mick’s anger, while they might scorch him would still leave him whole?

He rolled his hips once, basking in the deliciousness of a job well done then let his dick slide out. He kept his gaze on Len’s face and waited, watching. Finally curiosity got the better of Len and Mick could see the glint of blue as Len looked questioningly at him. Mick took a half a step back and pulled Len’s shoulder about until he had the thief with his back to the wall. He slid his hand down over his chest and lower until he could feel the hard curve of the pelvic bone in his hip. Letting his palm cup the crest of bone, he pushed firmly and held him pinned to the wall with one hand while he dropped down to his knees.

“Just wanted to make sure I had your attention,” he said, staring him in the eyes as he grasped the thick, hard organ with his other hand. He smiled wickedly and pushed the head against his closed lips, then rubbed his stubbly cheek across the tip, making sure he went with the grain.

Len jumped and his eyes which had been just about to close widening in alarm. Mick chuckled. “It makes it a little more interesting, doesn’t it? You used to like my unpredictability.”

“If you remember that, you’ll remember I trusted you. Completely.” Len stretched out his arms until he braced himself against the walls. He smiled again. “Do your worst,” he invited and closed his eyes.

Mick’s chuckle was deep and rich. “I gotta check things out down here. Apparently your balls have gotten bigger since I last paid ‘em a visit.” He licked the underside of Len’s shaft then got to work with his tongue and lips, remembering all the little things that drove Len wild. His hand wandered over to his balls and he cupped them, played with them and when he tugged at them, Len’s thighs began to quiver. Huh. Len was close. He drew the head between his lips and ran his tongue around the piss hole in time to the rhythm he made as he suck gently back and forth on his cock. When Len’s whole body started to vibrate, Mick pushed the pad of his thumb firmly on the spot between the balls and his puckered hole.

“Fuck!” Len gritted out, as he came into Mick’s mouth in an explosion of salty sweet and hardly any bitter. Well, say what you will about life on the Waverider but apparently Len’s diet had improved. Nevertheless, Mick spit it out into the drain and turned up his face into the shower spray. He rinsed a few more times then stood up.

“I can tell you’ve been eatin’ your vegetables, punk.”

Len rolled his head lazily on the wall behind him. “You remember juvie now?” he asked, pleased. “Nothing like institutional food and a nag for a cellmate to trigger a growth spurt.” He yawned. “What else do you remember?”

“I remember you like to take a nap after a nooner. Gideon! Water off. Air dry.” He slid one hand around Len’s waist and the other to cradle the nap of his neck and pulled him away from the wall. He kissed him, pushing his tongue inside and enjoyed a long leisurely filthily intimate kiss as warm air was blown at them from every angle. Mick could tell a lot about Len’s state of mind from his kisses. This one said he wasn’t holding back.

Mick drew back and hummed, satisfied. He stared into Len’s eyes and even though they were tired, they still had the intensity and focus of a predator. He threaded his fingers through Len’s and pulled him with him as he headed for the bed. “Come on. Let’s take a nap. The others can get by without us a few more hours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the abrupt end to the chapter but I'm having issues with it and at this point it's just better to set it free so I can start on the next bit. As always, I do enjoy your comments and appreciate them greatly. Enjoy!


	9. New Rules

Len awoke to a room that was still and quiet save for the slightly nasal breathing from where Mick lay on his back beside him. He felt relaxed, good. Really good. The drugs Gideon had given him had finally left his body and his mind was clear and sharp. His body felt good, too; gone was the horrendous pain in his knee. He knew his lower leg must have been a mess but it never hurt as bad as the knee. Also gone was the last remaining ache from his fight with Mick. His cheek had been a constant dull throb, the result of Mick’s huge roundhouse punch that lifted Len off his feet and landed him on his ass. He assumed a facial bone had been fractured and knew from past experience it would eventually heal up in a few weeks.

Now, his entire body hummed pleasantly with its post-coital satisfaction, the only specific sensations he felt were the pleasant ache in his ass and the slight sting where Mick had bitten his neck again. This habit of marking Len’s neck was new. The old Mick had enjoyed all sort of licking, kissing and gnawing but he’d always stopped before he’d left a mark. Wanting to make amends, Len had made a deal to be compliant to Mick about sex but he hadn’t promised to be a door mat. Today there would be some changes.

Having control was always desirable but Len wasn’t fanatical about it. He liked it because it ensured predictability and if Len was able to predict things, he could back off of being hyper vigilant and that was as close to being relaxed as Len was comfortable with. Planning a heist to the nth degree and having it go off perfectly gave Len deep satisfaction as did coaxing open a safe. They were predictable and therefore soothing. Len knew exactly who he had to thank for this need of his and that was Lewis, his sadistic alcoholic father.  

Mick had always been predictable to Len, even though he wasn’t to others. Mick would always indulge in fire and mayhem unless Len asked him to not to. And while killing someone was an open option for Mick, Len knew exactly what kind of person would trigger him to kill. It made him someone who Len could always depend upon. Trustworthy. Len knew he was safe to be with because Mick would never hurt him. Sure, they’d get into fights but before they got physical with each other, they agreed on it before they started. Mick ought to remember that Len didn’t tolerate abusive behavior, despite what Rip thought.

The trouble was that Mick’s stint as Chronos had left him changed: quieter, patient and closed off. He was now impossible to read and therefore unpredictable. It was a particular problem because Mick was obsessed with using Len to reconnect with his memories. Len suspected having sex was a significant part of Mick’s plan to reclaim his old self even though he was passing it off as an opportunity to speak unmonitored.

He turned his head and studied him, glad for a peaceful moment when he could really think. Even in his sleep, Mick’s face was tense, which was wrong. Mick had learned to not let his past actions haunt him: it was all ‘full speed ahead and don’t look back’ for him. With his face tilted towards Len, he could finally get a close look at him. He still had the nearly invisible scar on his chin and his brow still had its asymmetrical deep furrows. Surely if as much time had passed as Mick said, those would be different?

“Quit with the staring, Snart,” Mick’s voice was deep rumble. “Ask if you want somethin’.”

Back to ‘Snart’ again. Len sighed and dipped his head with frustration. “What I want is little consistency but that seems unlikely today. We’re in bed, why are you calling me ‘Snart’ again?”

“I always call you ‘Snart.’”

Actually, he didn’t, not when they were in bed and especially not when they woke up together after having sex, but Len wasn’t going to tip his hand about that. Mick’s behavior truly did not make sense. They’d interact and Len would see more of the old Mick but then he’d be gone next time they met. Time to push for more intel.

“Gideon! Have you finished any of the blood work on Mick yet?”

“All results have been completed and are ready to be reported.”

“Let’s start with the easy ones. Do either of us have STDs?”

“Both of you have tested negative to all sixty-seven know sexually transmitted diseases that were active during the time periods that you each have visited.”

“Snart? What the hell?” Mick said, irritated. “Did you really think I was gonna give you the Clap?”

“You spoke of vengeance then declared you weren’t going to use protection. You also said you’ve lived lifetimes. What was I to think? So, yeah, it did cross my mind that during your many adventures as Chronos the Bounty Hunter—who I now find out may have been fucking irrelevants whenever the whim struck him--you might have picked up a case of space crabs or time pox. Is HIV still a thing in the future?”

“HIV has been cured, as have all the types of hepatitis,” announced Gideon proudly.

Mick scowled as he stared at Len obviously assessing his expression. “What else did you ask Gideon to test my blood for?”

“Methylation of your DNA. Gideon, what are the results in words that I can understand.”

“DNA methylation is an epigenetic mechanism used by cells to control gene expression. It can be used to estimate the age of the subject by noting specific biomarkers in the methylation patterns. Mr. Rory is approximately eleven months older than his recorded age.”

Mick’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Eleven months. Only eleven months?” he asked, shocked.

“And his body is the same one he originally arrived with on the Waverider? It’s not a clone or a reproduction or something like that?”

“While there have been some modifications completed, there is a 83% probability it is the same one. I would need to do some specific scans to be 99% sure.”

Len waited as Mick absorbed the information. While Len was relieved that Mick truly had not been gone/tortured for ‘lifetimes,’ it was obviously causing Mick a great deal of confusion.

Angrily, Mick sat up and swung his legs off the bed. “Gideon. What did you find? What’s in my blood?”

“Twenty-eight different substances have been identified.”

Len pushed himself up until he was sitting with his pillow behind his back. “Gideon, we won’t recognize the names, can you list these substances by their actions on the body?”

“Certainly, Mr. Snart. There are three drugs from the family of Omega Socialytics. Their function is to block the need and desire to form social bonds and to foment antipathy towards bonds that already exist.”

Len blinked, stunned.

“What else?” Mick growled, planting his hands on his thighs and leaning forward.

“Six different types of anabolic, androgenic and corticoid steroids. Ten different drugs commonly administered to minimalize the undesirable side effects of the steroids. Your testosterone levels are three times higher than would be optimal in a man of your age. You also have significant levels of four kinds of mood stabilizers, two different antipsychotics and a stimulant. There are also trace amounts of a hallucinogenic.”

Len looked worriedly at Mick. “How long before these drugs are cleared from his system?”

“Unknown. Aside from the hallucinogenic, levels of these substances have been stable for at least six months. To confirm this, additional tests were performed on a hair that was salvaged from the water reclaimed during Mr. Rory’s recent shower.”

“Where…nevermind.” If he was lucky he would be spared hearing Gideon—

“Mr. Rory’s pubic hairs are long enough to reveal six month’s worth of data.”

And there it was. Not lucky today. Good to know.

“I’ve been on the Waverider for nearly a week. Have the levels gone down at all?”

“No. May I suggest a body scan to identify the location of the pump implant?”

Mick lunged to his feet. “Those fucking bastards!” He stormed out into the hallway and turned towards the med bay unconcerned he was completely naked.

Eyes wide, Len watched him go. Even though he was worried about the pharmacy of drugs leaching into Mick, he couldn’t help but watch as his partner stalked out of the room. The man was pure power and danger incarnate, his muscles rippling as he raged out the door. Len could hear the echo of Sara’s words in his head about Mick’s ‘big hairy ass,’ but Len liked that about him. He liked to feel the strength of his thick muscles as Mick manhandled him, he liked how his long, thick cock felt when Len was riding it and he loved playing with his heavy balls. Mick was the epitome of what it meant to be masculine and he was fearsome. Len found that part especially thrilling.

Len slipped out of the bed and gathered up a change of clothes for Mick. He stopped briefly by his own quarters and dressed before taking Mick’s clothes to the med bay.

“Take the fuckers out! Now!!” Mick’s voice echoed down the hallway.

Len cautiously entered the room and approached Mick. He sat on the treatment chair, the diagnostic lasers sweeping across his body. Glancing at the wall display, Len could see three different foreign objects in Mick’s body.

“The abrupt cessation of these drugs will be harmful and cause damage.” Gideon sounded irritated and frustrated. “May I suggest reprogramming the pumps to titer the drugs down at a safe rate?”

“You take this shit out of me now or I’ll reprogram you back to your default settings!”

“Removal of the implants could have deadly consequences for the crew. I am unable to comply without approval from the captain.”

Mick leaped out of his chair with a roar of rage. He spotted Len and charged him, catching him up and slamming him against the wall. “This is your fault!” He held him pinned, one hand on his throat, the other painfully gripping his wrist. Mick’s eyes were wild and his chest heaving. His gaze dropped to Len’s lips and he shoved his knee between Len’s thighs. The kiss that followed was forceful and single-minded and left Len bloody where his lip split, caught between their teeth.

“What are you gonna do, Mick? Blow off a little steam by fucking an irrelevant?” he asked quietly.

Mick’s eyes narrowed. “It’s allowed.” Len could feel his deep voice rumbling through where their chest walls were pressed together. “Approved of even.”

“Yeah? Well not by me,” Len growled. “Let me explain something you’ve apparently forgotten. You like to control me in bed and I like for you to do so but there’s a catch. I have issues about being physically controlled. Normally I hate it---violently--but with Mick Rory, my trusted partner, I get off on how strong he is. I get to feel what it’s like to be handled--restrained even--by someone bigger and stronger than me and not fear it because I know he will not hurt me.

“Mick, Chronos, whoever is currently in charge in there? If you lose my trust, our days of fucking are done. I’ve cut you some slack because of the whole Chronos/programming/torture thing but while my patience is legendary, it isn’t infinite. Now let go,” he ordered, his voice strong and commanding.

Startled, both of Mick’s hands opened up and after a couple of moments, he straightened and moved back a half a step.

Even though he wanted to massage his throat, Len held himself still. He would show no weakness. “Another thing. Remember those issues I have? I don’t like being marked where people can see it. This bite here,” he gestured to his neck, “I will allow this to fade away but it’s the last one. You will not do that again.”

Mick frowned. “But you’ve been walking around with bruises on your face for days now,” he mused, puzzled, sounding more like he was talking out load than to Len.

“Yes. I wore them to prove to you that my regrets for the part I played in what befell you were sincere. I allowed you and the crew to see that I don’t shy from paying my debts. But you leaving me marked up? It stops now.”

Mick stared at him, really looked at him. His gaze dropped to the mark on Len’s neck, then down to the floor as he struggled with his thoughts and memories.

“Come on,” Len said gently with a light touch to his arm. “Back in the chair. Let’s get this sorted out.” He guided Mick as the larger man backed into the chair, strangely compliant after his outburst. “There. Now just relax. Gideon, reprogram the implants to wean these drugs down quickly.”

“Data suggest two weeks is possible but not recommended due to an increase in possible side effects.”

“What are these side effects?”

“Aggression, violent outbursts and instability.”

“Oh dear, whatever shall we do?” Len murmured, a slight smile on his lips.

Mick leaned back. “Ass,” he said but without any heat to the words. “I want them out, Len.”

“And they will come out but when it’s safe to do so. Reprogram the implants for a two-week wean. We can always back off if Mick becomes scary. Well, especially scary.”

The laser lights tightened their beams to three areas and became a soft shade of lavender. Len rested his hand on Mick’s shoulder as he waited, his eyes on the diagnostic wall display.

After a minute, Mick broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”

Len glanced down. “Hmm?”

“I had forgotten. About how much you hated people seeing…stuff.”

“And you remember now?”

“Yeah.” He looked up and held Len’s gaze. “I don’t rape. I know I never did, and I want you to know that even as Chronos I never….   I don’t know why, I just get confused around you. I would never hurt you like that.”

“Good to know,” Len said quietly, giving an affectionate squeeze to the shoulder, warm and solid beneath his hand.

The treatment lights went off. “The implants have been reprogrammed. Mr. Rory, please return here for daily testing. It is vital that you are monitored frequently during this time.”

Mick scowled.

“Consider it done. Now, Mick, what do you say you put some pants on and we go find the others?”

“And dinner?”

“Especially dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we have plot!
> 
> I'm sorry about the delay. Seemed like there was always something happening during my writing time. Frustrating, but the next chapter is here! Enjoy! And remember, comments are always appreciated. :)
> 
> I hope those that are celebrating have a safe and sane one!


	10. Beers and Croc-kababs

Mick paced slightly behind Len as they walked towards the ship’s outside hatch. He still had anger bubbling under his skin, furious that his body had been manipulated above and beyond what the Time Masters had done to his mind. He didn’t want to wait two weeks to have the drugs stopped; he hated them so much it was all he could do to stop himself from digging out the implants with his fingers. But he had been taught self-control so he shoved those feelings down and ignored them, instead focusing on the present.

He tried not to worry about what would happen as the drugs were weaned down. Were these feelings of rage and the urge to destroy what were waiting for him? He remembered some of his past but it was like watching a movie with the sound off, distant and uninteresting. When he got closer to Len, he would get spikes of memory that were so vivid and intense his whole body thrummed with excitement. Part of him wanted that intensity so much it was all he could do to keep his hands to himself and not pull Len back into his cabin and do whatever was needed to burn away the shroud that kept his mind divided. Another part of him feared that very same desire, feared what he would find there, feared the violent urges he might feel, like black eels slipping through the dark waters of his mind.

Len stopped suddenly at the hatch and Mick, alert and wary, moved smoothly up to stand beside him. 

“Not what I was expecting,” Len drawled, surprised.

Stretched out before them was a deep green valley whose far side rose up into forested mountains, their craggy peaks frosted with snow. The ship had landed on a flat granite area, its scrubby bushes surrounding a sparkling clear pool of water. Kendra and Ray were chatting beside a portable barbeque grill, while Jax and the Professor were futzing about building a small ring of rocks. Rip sprawled in an aluminum and canvas camp chair, one of several that were scattered about nearby. At the opposite side of the camp, Sara sat perched on a large rock, a long gun resting across her lap.

Kendra’s face lit up and she took a step towards them, clapping her hands. Most of the others joined in with the applause.

“Look at you!”

“It’s good to see you back on your feet, both of them.”

“Looking good, there.”

"Glad you're doing better."

“What’s all this?” Len asked.

“We felt that a barbeque and beers were the appropriate way to celebrate your surviving a crocodile attack and for Mick running into the jaws of death to save you,” beamed Raymond. He bent down and snagged two bottles of beer from an ice cooler and held them out as he ambled over to them.

Mick grunted in approval and twisted the top off of his while Len stared at the cold bottle in his hand. “Where did you get these?”

Ray bounced on his toes and grinned. “We stopped at a grocery store and bought supplies. Aside from the beers we bought deli salads, rolls with real butter and marshmallows for later. Kendra’s made a papaya salsa to go with the crocodile. She’s remembered a couple of ways of cooking that, by the way.” He paused at Len’s incredulous expression and added, “But if you don’t want to try the crocodile—and I can kinda understand if you don’t—we also bought some ribeyes.”

Len pushed passed him. “I’ll have steak,” he said flatly. He stalked off towards Sara.

Mick detoured by the grill and eyed the pile of skewers threaded with strips of white meat sitting on a fold-up table. Next to them was a platter stacked with steaks ready to be cooked and beside that were all the foods Ray had mentioned.

“It tastes a little like fish and a little like chicken,” she offered, nodding at the skewers.

He grunted with approval. “I’ll have both.”

He turned to leave but Kendra placed her hand lightly on his arm. “That was incredibly brave of you. There aren’t many men who would run into the water to save someone being carried away like that. I am honored to have witnessed your act of heroism,” she said formally, her expression earnest and solemn.

Her words perplexed him. He felt an urge to mock the hero status she was giving him, to deny the sincerity of her words and the acceptance they implied but he couldn’t. Disconcerted, he mumbled, “Thanks, I think,” and headed off after Len.

He didn’t understand how both Kendra and Len seemed to think that he had a choice of whether to race into the river and grab Len or to stand on the riverbank and watch him die. He did the only thing he could and how in the hell did that make him a hero?

Len had stopped at the edge of their campsite, the ground dropping off sharply into the valley. He spent several long moments critically eyeing the landscape while slowly rotating to also examine the camp and what lay behind the camouflaged Waverider.

“Expecting trouble?” Mick asked Sara with a nod towards her weapon. It was a Colt Multi-Tactical Variable-Pulse rifle, standard issue for a Time Master’s cache. It was most suitable for extended battles or for situations with unknown opponents.

“I’m on croc watch,” she said, loud enough to carry over to Len. He was walking back to join them.

“Ha. Ha.” Len’s voice was dripping with scorn. “No, really, what are you on guard against? And where are we?”

Sara picked up the fifth of whisky leaning against her leg and took a long swig before she offered it to Mick. “New Zealand, South Island. I can’t help but feel like there’ll be Orcs swarming up that cliff if no one’s watching it.”

Mick tipped the bottle up and swallowed twice, the fiery liquid burning a path into his stomach. Yeah, much better than the beer. He smacked his lips in satisfaction and grunted. “Not dragons?” He had gaps in his memory but he certainly remembered the fire-breathing dragons in those damn SF films of Len’s.

He held the bottle out towards Snart, but the thief shook his head and instead twisted open the cap of his beer. He took a small sip and gazed thoughtfully back at the snowcapped mountains. “Giant eagles are more likely, I think.” He turned and studied the camp again. “What does it say that two people who when merged will generate flames from their bodies, have not the slightest idea of how to build a campfire. It’s rather sad.” He took another sip of his beer and waited a few moments before adding, “I wonder if anyone here has a burning desire to ignite a better understanding of fire in them so Stein and Jax don’t combust from embarrassment when their fire won’t catch.”

Mick sighed. “You’re just warming up, aren’t you, Snart?”

Snart smiled impishly at Mick’s own unintended pun. He raised his beer to Mick in a salute and took another sip, his eyes twinkling with anticipation.

“Fine, I’ll do it. Blondie, give me another hit of that whisky first.”

A couple more swallows and he was good to go. He stomped over to Firestorm and stared down at their pitiful attempt at a fire ring and at the stack of thick branches that looked like they had been shortened to a usable length by laser. At least they looked dry.

***  


Len settled himself down into a camp chair that was near Rip but angled so he could enjoy the drama as Mick took charge of all things fiery.

“You call that a fire pit? It’s too small. A fire needs to breathe. You have to leave room for the draft.”

“We’re not intending a bonfire, Mr. Rory. Just one large enough for roasting marshmallows and supplying a companionable warmth for the chilly evening—”

“With those logs? How were you intending to start it?”

“We was hoping with a blast from your heat gun,” Jax said eagerly.

“Not gonna happen, kid. You don’t use a chainsaw to carve a roast. Go find some moss on those rocks over there and make sure it’s dry. Get some dried leaves, loose bark or dry twigs, too. It’s called tinder and kindling,” he yelled after him as the young man stopped at the edge of the clearing and started to scuff at the debris beneath the bushes.

“Professor, we are gonna widen this ring to be at least four feet across.”

“Surely that’s too big for our requirements.”

“Have you started many fires?” Mick growled.

“Well, no but—” He fell silent as he assessed Mick’s most surly expression. “But I concede your point that you have superior experience in this matter,” he finished stiffly.

"It's all about the oxygen to fuel ratio. Physics can't be ignored. I thought you'd get that."

"Well, yes. Of course," Stein said, flustered.

Len chuckled and took a deep swallow from his beer, grinning at Stein’s quick surrender.

“You’re enjoying this,” Rip observed.

“Absolutely. Fire is Mick’s thing. Stein wasn’t going to win this one. And it’s good to see Mick is still in touch with his inner arsonist.”

After a few moments of silence, Rip said, “You seem to have recovered from—”

“I’m fine,” Len cut him off smoothly. One thing he remembered was that Rip had burst into the med bay and had seen him naked. He shifted restlessly, uneasy at the memory. Len was intensely protective of his privacy and of his history that was displayed too openly by the scars on his skin.

“Your escape from that crocodile was nothing short of miraculous—”

“I’ll be sure and mention that to Mick. Speaking of which, we’ve discovered that Mick has three implants that are keeping him dosed on a bunch of drugs. Did you know?”

“No. Of course not. I was never privy to the protocols for preparing Hunters. I assume he’ll have Gideon remove them?”

“In two weeks. Apparently, some of the drugs trigger unpleasant side effects if stopped too quickly. We’re going to need a two-week break from hunting Savage or else you'll risk Mick being unstable and violent during a mission.”

“And that would be different from his normal state how?” Rip asked, with a sarcastic lilt at the end of his sentence.

“Oh, you’ll know. Also, a word of advice: You would do well to quit insulting him or his intelligence.”

Rip scowled. “Yes, well I’ve learned that lesson quite well, thank you.” After a few moments of silence, Rip glanced at Len. The look was longer than needed for a quick check and Len was aware that Rip's eyes slid over all of him and were filled with speculation.

Len ignored it and concentrated on Mick. His partner had shouldered Stein out of the way and was quickly rebuilding the ring of rocks to his liking. Like a dragon making a nest, Len thought to himself, smiling. Dragons needed a treasure and that one would have his precious burning brightly soon enough. Mick had glanced over at Len a few times, his eyes narrowing as they flicked over to Rip. Len was purposefully ignoring the Time Master and assumed from Mick’s expression that Rip was eyeing him again.

A half hour later, said fire was burning well, the larger kindling fully engulfed and the few of the larger branches catching fire eagerly. As Mick constructed the combustibles, he’d carefully pointed out the physics of what a fire needed. Jax had listened with his usual attentiveness and asked a few pertinent questions while Stein had been silent, though his expression had become more respectful as Mick revealed the depth of his knowledge and his peculiar insights.

Well, there was no hiding the fact that fire had a lot more significance to Mick than for other people.

“Soup’s on!” Raymond called out. “Well, we don’t actually have soup but the steaks and the first set of croc-kababs are ready,” he amended, happily.

Everyone gathered around the food and piled their plates high with only Len and Jax avoiding the crocodile.   Before everyone scattered to find a chair, Len cleared his throat.

“I want to thank you all for your assistance earlier today. I owe you all a debt.” He paused then added, “well, except for you,” he said, with a pointed look at Rip.

Rip tilted his head to the side in annoyance. “It was my ship that healed your wounds, Mr. Snart,” he reminded him sharply.

“And Gideon also has my thanks. Next time, land us some place where we’re not in danger of being eaten.”

Rip took in a breath for a reply, but Sara leaned into him. “Let it go,” she advised quietly.

Rip let out his breath in a heavy sigh. “You’re quite right. Let us instead celebrate the presence and health of both of our malcontents.”

There was a heartfelt murmuring of “Here, here,” and those that still had beers in their hands raised them in salute.

***

Three hours later, they all lounged contentedly around the perfectly sized campfire, its occasional sparks darting up into the brilliant star-filled night sky. Marshmallows were consumed. Stein and Raymond’s were always a consistent golden brown all over while Mick’s usually ended up engulfed in flames. He’d watch it burn until the surface was black and bubbling before he’d blow out the flames and eat it enthusiastically.

Len was slumped down in his chair but comfortable inside his parka, the night air chill and crisp. He was nursing his third beer, careful to pace himself and never be impaired by the alcohol. He hadn’t been able to relax, never feeling safe and secure even though his companions were more than capable to be instantly ready for an attack so when he went inside to grab his parka, he also strapped on his cold gun. That did make him feel better, as did glancing occasionally at Mick, sitting tall and strong as he tended the fire, occasionally losing himself as he stared into the flames. The close call from this morning still vibrated through Len and he knew he could count on being especially twitchy for days to come.

Aside from that, he was enjoying the camaraderie but he wondered at the price it carried and its sincerity. If Mick still wanted to return to 2016, was it worth giving up thirty plus years of friendship and more to stay with the Waverider? Now that he wasn’t confronted by a bunch of well-armed pirates and his companions were not in immediate danger, his choices were clearer.

When Mick had been absent from the Waverider, Len had felt tense, uneasy and so very alone not to mention plagued by guilt. It had never sat well with him that Jax had been the only one of the crew that seemed upset with the idea that Len had killed Mick.

In truth, he'd known where that fateful conversation had been heading. He knew Sara would be more than capable of killing Mick if the consensus was that he needed to be eliminated and honestly, that was the obvious conclusion--he'd seen it in their eyes even if some were having trouble accepting it. With Mick locked up and utterly defenseless in the brig, Len had had to move fast. He hated that he’d been pushed into a corner by Mick’s actions and being cornered always brought out the worst in Len. Instead of arguing for stranding Mick somewhere safe and possibly being voted down, he’d seized Mick’s fate and let the rest of them assume the worst while he hid his furious partner away.

Too bad that plan had failed so miserably.

Len finished the last few ounces of his beer, his mind surprising at ease with his decision. When they finally got Mick sorted out, if he still wanted to leave and return home, Len would go with him. Neither one of them were meta-humans; they were just well-armed, incredibly accomplished thieves. Rip could find someone else to replace them.

What was harder to replace was someone that knew Len's flaws and would stand by his side. A person who was so trusted that he was the only one Len felt comfortable being naked in front of, the only one Len trusted enough to surrender himself to during sex. The only person besides his sister that he loved.

It fretted at Len that Mick thought Len had betrayed him. It was so disturbing to Len that he needed to make it right, needed to make Mick understand that that had never been his intention.

He wanted what they had back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter with no drama and no sex. In baseball, this is called a changeup. In fanfic, it's called giving the boys a break. :)
> 
> And I'll try to post at least every two weeks. I love your comments and yeah, they do kinda impact what comes next. Two requests for Mick suffering side effects? Guess what comes next!
> 
> I meant to add this link. The Waverider landed somewhere is this area:  
> http://www.newzealand.com/us/feature/routeburn-track/


	11. Withdrawal, the early stages

Day One:

Mick had been sitting cross-legged at the fire ring for over an hour and where his knee was pressed against one of its rocks he felt the sharp focus of heat, pure and stinging. He had been drawn to the fire, wanting to be as close as he could as he watched it die back, the low orange and yellow flames licking playfully at the few pieces of blackened wood silhouetted among them. Now there was very little smoke left to sting his eyes as only a few embers were still glowing like fiery rubies amidst the ash and charred wood. How perfect it would be if he could pick them up and keep them with him just as they were now. Maybe they would help him feel as he felt now, calm and peaceful but from being in balanced, not from being dead inside as he was as Chronos, the cold killing machine the Time Masters had turned him into.

“Mick.”

Len’s voice, low and familiar, his single word rich with tones of affection and acceptance--the sound striking deep into him, seemingly having its own hard wired path into his brain. Mick felt a warmth against his upper arm, solid and soothing and he realized Len was leaning his thigh against him. The thief gave him a nudge. “Time to go.” He paused. “You want to put it out or shall I?”

Mick heard soft footsteps behind him and the rattle of the camp chairs being carried into the cargo hold. The camp had been cleared and all that remained was Mick, Len and the fire. No, not all. He could see Sara off at the edge of the camp standing silently as she casually cradled the long gun. She looked tired. Yeah, it was time to go.

He stood up and flexed his head to both sides, his neck giving a satisfying crack. He glanced down at the fire and the bucket of water Len had placed nearby at some point in the evening and smiled. Len had a more than a few compulsions, he remembered. Safety was one of them, so was tidiness. Giving a grunt, he said, “Nah, I’ll do it.” He unbuttoned his fly, pulled out his dick and pissed on the embers sending up a cloud of ash as he swung the stream back and forth. “Join me,” he encouraged.

Len, his lips thinned with annoyance, said, “Sure,” as he picked up the bucket and slowly poured out the water being careful to avoid being splashed by any urine. He gave the bucket a two sharp shakes before he gracefully pivoted away, hooking his chair with his other hand as he smoothly strolled to the hatch.

Mick watched him go, wondering how a bulky parka and a pair of skinny legs could be so sexy. He gave his dick a couple of shakes and tucked it away. “My way was more fun!” he called out after him.

Sara arrived at the hatch at the same as Mick. “After you, big guy.” He raised his eyebrow. She raised her’s back, her unspoken “Really?” loud in the air. Not an invitation then. He nodded and took one last deep breath of unrecycled air and stepped inside.

When he entered his cabin, Len had just finishing folding his clothes neatly. He still wore his long-sleeved undershirt and boxer briefs and he glanced at Mick, his expression questioning.

“All of it off but for right now, I just want to sleep.”

If Len was relieved, Mick couldn’t tell. He simply slipped off the remainder of his clothing and with a flash of long, slender limbs, slid into Mick’s bed.

Mick pulled off his clothes and hesitated. He had meant to throw them over the chair, but instead found himself folding them and leaving them on the dresser next to Len’s. “Lights!” he ordered and climbed into bed. As he relaxed he became aware of the odor of wood smoke. He turned his head towards Len and the odor increased. “You smell good,” he murmured and rolled onto his side, resting his hand across his partner’s waist and nuzzling into the pillow next to Len. He sighed. He hadn’t felt this content in what seemed like lifetimes.

As he drifted off, he felt the pillow shift as Len turned his face towards him in the darkness. “You smell good, too,” he whispered.

Day Two:

When Mick awoke, his mouth was dry and he had a slight headache. The room was suffused with a faint glow; he’d programmed Gideon to light the room at a pre-dawn level starting at the end of what probably was Mick’s last REM sleep cycle of the night. He tilted his head and there in the soft light was Len’s throat, bare and on full display as the thief’s head had slipped to the side of the pillow, the awkward angle leaving his neck exposed and vulnerable. It was rare to see so much of Len’s throat and Mick wondered at the beauty of it, wondered what it would feel like to wrap his fingers around all that soft skin and squeeze, wondered what it would be like to see the panic in Len’s eyes.

His stomach churned hot and queasy and Mick rolled away to sit on the edge of his bed. Breathing deeply, he leaned forward, hands on his knees and wondered if he was going to throw up. The nausea was there but was it from the food from last night or his thoughts? He swallowed, trying to force down the knot in his throat. He tried to remember what Gideon had said about the Socialytics. _“…to foment antipathy towards bonds that already exist.”_ Had the drug implants pumped more of that shit into him as he slept? Would the drug take the amount of fondness he felt for someone and turn it into hostility in the same proportion?

He couldn’t stay here. He lurched into the bathroom and used the toilet. Afterwards, staring at himself in the mirror, he caught a whiff of wood smoke and his stomach lurched again. He stepped into the shower and leaned hard against the cool surface. “Gideon, full force, highest heat level.” He bowed his head and let himself get lost in the pounding water that stung his skin and fill the room with cleansing steam.

Walking out of the shower he felt better, if feeling less was better. He knew Len still in bed, could feel his eyes following him, watchful and silent as Mick crossed the room to dig a clean change of clothes out of his dresser. He dressed with his back to Len and only when he was headed out the door did Mick spare him a look, catching an unguarded glimpse of concern before Len’s expression was smoothed over.

It was still quite early in ship’s time and the galley was empty. He ordered bacon, eggs, toast and coffee. He was halfway through his meal when he finally registered the faint smell of smoke, or more accurately the odor of the grain toasted by high heat. His stomach gave a queasy roll and he threw the rest of his meal down the disposal chute.

Restless, he went to the armory to retrieve his heat gun and spent an hour stripping it down, cleaning it and reassembling it. He found he needed to concentrate only on the metal components as he worked because if his thoughts drifted to the liquid fire it produced, he felt queasy again. Somehow his conditioning against fire was in full force again.

Fucking Time Masters.

The familiar task did not give him any relief so he surrendered to his restlessness and went to the secondary cargo hold and the makeshift gym they had assembled there. His normal routine of calisthenics, weight lifting and a vigorous attack on the punching bag left him sweaty and empty of thoughts with no feelings to distract him. He headed back to his room for another shower and a change of clothes.

Snart was gone but he’d made the bed before he’d left. Mick frowned. It probably smelled of smoke. Mick quickly stripped the bed and threw the linens and his clothes from the day before into the laundry chute. Thanks to his prison skills, he had the bed remade in under two minutes. As he was smoothing out the last of the wrinkles, he paused and found himself picturing Snart between the sheets again. Naked. Soft. Defenseless.

He straightened up and headed out to the med bay. He needed some answers.

***

Len had been unsettled the entire day. Mick had been weirdly distant when he’d come out of the shower that morning. And when he’d glanced at Len as he left, there had been something in his eye that had made Len’s skin prickle with apprehension. Since then, Mick had been out of sight, always elsewhere than the rest of the crew. He hadn’t even seen him at mealtime.

While it wasn’t late yet, Len had decided to turn in for the night. If Mick was gonna want sex, Len didn’t want to be cranky and tired. He walked to Mick’s cabin and was surprised when the door refused to open. “Gideon? Open the door.”

“Mr. Rory has ordered the door to remain locked until he releases it.”

Len frowned. “What’s he doing in there? Is he safe?”

“Mr. Rory is sleeping and has been for the last few hours.”

Puzzled, Len went to his own cabin. Once inside, he paused, feeling the hair on the back of his neck prickle. “Gideon, lock my door. No one is to enter without my permission.”

“Understood.”

Len had no idea why Mick had decided to bar Len from his room, but Len figured it wasn’t for any good reason.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real Life has been a bear lately and the rest of August isn't looking to improve much. Sorry about not updating as promised. And I'm sorry this is so short. I figured getting the first half of what I'd planned out there was better than making you wait since it's been a while since I updated.
> 
> Tragically, there is no sex in this update. 
> 
> Your comments are always appreciated and loved. :)


	12. The Quiet Before the Storm

Day Three of Withdrawals:

 

Mick had been staring at the ceiling for over an hour, his frustration rising. He had woken up too hot, his knees aching. Still tired, he threw his sheet off and flopped on his back, trying to fall back asleep. The bed beneath him seemed to get harder and he shifted again trying to find a comfortable position.

With a curse, he gave up and stood but quickly found himself sitting back down. He sat there for a moment, surprised. He felt weak and dizzy, like he’d been sick or drunk. Hands planted firmly beside him, he pushed off again and got to his feet easily this time. That momentary weakness worried him and he headed back to the med bay and flopped down into a treatment chair.

“Gideon, what the fuck is happening now? I feel weak, achy. Hot. Can’t sleep. Headaches.”

His blood was sampled and the attachment retracted from him. “Those are symptoms of steroid and anti-anxiety withdrawal and will get worse. Have you eaten recently?”

He growled. “You know I haven’t, your eyes are everywhere on this ship. Not hungry. Feel queasy.”

“May I suggest ginger tea and toast?”

“No to the toast.”

“Crackers then? Biscuits?”

“Yeah, something sweet might work but I didn’t think this boat had any _cookies_ on board.” Damn English and their mangling of the language.

“They are kept in reserve for special occasions. The high sugar content might help with your headache and weakness.”

“Kept ‘em all for himself,” he muttered, annoyed once again by Hunter’s sneakiness. Cookies? What kinda sick sonavabitch hides cookies? That was the type of food that only existed to share with others. Yet more proof Hunter was twisted and up to no good. Damn Time Masters.

“Any other symptoms?”

Thoughts of his fleeting ideas to hurt Snart rose up. How to ask about those and how long they might last without it getting back to Hunter? “You know I’ve been Snart’s partner for nearly thirty years. I’ve been having some odd notions about him, things I’ve never thought of before. Ever.”

“Are these unpleasant thoughts?”

“Yeah. I’ve been staying away from him.”

“The socialytics would cause that. They are a dangerous and illegal class of drugs. It is probably the titration of the drugs that are given to fine tune their influence that is temporarily heightening their effect. Have you had any unpleasant thoughts about the rest of the crew?”

“No, just him.” He paused but he needed to know. “How long is this gonna last?”

Gideon took longer to respond than usual. “My research indicates they have a very short half-life and their main withdrawal symptoms are muscle aches, headaches, emotional instability and insomnia, all of which are expected to get worse from the withdrawal of the other medications in your system. Since the socialytics represent the highest danger to the wellbeing of Mr. Snart, it might be better to halt all further administration of them despite the increased discomfort you might undergo.”

Mick didn’t even need to think about that one. “Do it.” The treatment beam swept over him.

“You have been scanned and the adjustments to the medication pumps have been made. I will have the tea and graham crackers waiting for you in the galley.”

The snack was tolerable and he felt stronger afterwards. He spent the next hour pacing the hallways of the ship, hoping the exercise would either work out the aches in his muscles or make him tired enough to try to sleep again. It was a few hours before the rest of the crew would awaken. Maybe he could get through this without seeing them if he only left his cabin during the ship’s night. He turned that thought around to test its possibilities. Snart woulda been able to work up plan in no time but the thief liked doing that, fitting all the exigencies together, sitting quietly for days on stake outs or studying blueprints and so focused on what was in front of him as to be unaware of what was around him. Mick could do it if he concentrated enough but it was especially hard now with that damn headache and the restlessness filling him up and making it so hard to concentrate.

He suddenly realized he was standing outside of Snart’s cabin with no idea of how long he’d been there. His arm was extended, pausing as it reached for the panel that opened the door.

He backed away, shocked, a cold curl of panic churning in his gut. He retreated immediately to his cabin and locked the door behind him. How far could he go with actions he wasn’t aware of? Was he performing automatic actions while distracted or was it possible he could commit acts that he would never consider doing otherwise? After a few moments of careful thought he instructed Gideon not to open his own door to him unless he could name three of Central City’s museums. Hopefully that would stop him from leaving unless he was aware and in control of himself.

***

Before Len left his cabin for the day he paused. “Gideon, where is Mick?”

“Asleep in his cabin.”

“Does he need anything? Has he eaten?”

“He had a small meal last night while he was roaming through the ship.”

“Has he visited the med bay?”

“Yes. Mr. Rory has been cooperative and his medical condition is being monitored daily.”

That was something at least. If Mick wanted to be left alone, he would respect that. For now.

***

The next day Len woke up, enquired about Mick and received the same answer. Mick had left his room in the middle of the night, eaten a small meal, checked in with Gideon at the med bay and paced some more before he relocked himself in his cabin. Len asked Gideon to inform him should Mick need anything or even if he came out of his cabin. He was uneasy knowing that Mick was in distress and fighting this battle by himself. He wanted to see him, to see if he could help but he also knew Mick was avoiding him for a reason.

With a sigh, he began reviewing his plans to talk to each of the crew and do what he could to make sure the long days of being onboard the ship wasn’t making them restless. Savage would just have to wait while Mick got himself sorted out.

***

Day Five:

Mick woke up drenched in sweat, a shout still echoing around his cabin. His shout. It was another nightmare of Snart freezing him with that damn cold gun. Mick thought it would be glorious to die with flames wild around him, consuming him totally and leaving nothing but clean ash behind but freezing was the opposite—locked and static, dead but not gone, left to molder and decay for all to see. He didn’t want to freeze. And he didn’t want to see Snart’s eyes as he pulled the trigger. In his nightmares he sometimes saw gleeful betrayal and other times he saw pity and disgust but never the desperation, anger and commitment that had been there when Snart had come close to actually shooting him.

He lay there exhausted, weak, nauseated and in pain. Everything hurt but headache was nearly blinding him. He pushed himself off the bed and rested from that small movement. “Gideon, how much longer does this go on?”

“The worst of it will be past in three days.”

This was a fucking nightmare. “Get my food ready,” he mumbled and pushed to his feet. The tea and graham crackers were difficult to keep down but if he did, he’d feel a bit stronger and the headache might go down from a nine to a seven.

He was finishing his second up of tea and feeling a little better when Gideon said, “The ship’s supply of graham crackers will last only for a few more days. I will notify Captain Hunter.”

A surge of irritation coursed through Mick. “Don’t bother! That bastard hides all the good stuff in his study.”

He pushed himself out of the chair and strode straight to the bridge and Gideon’s access panel. The AI hadn’t even completed her inquiry about what he was doing before he’d triggered her standby mode. He had taken control of Gideon before and was able to quickly make the changes he needed. She would no long be able to report his location on the ship and if asked, she would just repeat that he was sleeping in his cabin. Also, he restricted any alerts she would ordinarily give to Hunter on his activities. He refit the access panel back in place and with a great deal of satisfaction, started a systematic search of Hunter’s study.

He found, among many other hidden away things, a bottle of cognac and a tube of McVities biscuits after opening and searching through a number of innocent looking wall panels. He sat heavily in the chair at Hunter’s desk and sampled them as he nosed about. They were a weird combination but the mild biscuits sat easily in his stomach and the high alcohol content of the cognac soothed away the worst of his headache and muscle aches.

The desk contained a lot of strange and expected things but of special interest was what he found beneath a false bottom of a drawer--a small personal storage drive. The only purpose of it would be to keep its contents separate from Gideon and secret from the Time Masters. Grinning broadly, he inserted it into a desk port and sat back as an index of information shimmered into existence in front of him. There were ninety-one files, the last eight of them created about the time Mick and the others joined the Waverider. “Display file most recently closed,” he ordered.

He wasn’t surprised when Snart’s image appeared but he was surprised by the expression: the laser-focused gaze was common but the small, come-hither smile was as rare as an honest cop. After a long moment, he tore his eyes from the image and pushed away the warmth and want he felt pooling within him and getting stronger the longer he gazed at that face. He concentrated on scanning the subject titles of the files.

When he opened up the file titled “Behavorial” he found a variety of subsections.

“History” seemed to be the facts of his life and included all the heists he’d planned, even the ones that had remained unsolved by the police. “Official Records” were all the reports that had been generated on Snart, from the criminal reports--arrest, court, juvie, and prison--to health reports from his hospitalizations and psych evals to all the news articles about him.

“Assessment” was a Time Master form and included their own psych evaluation and an appraisal of Snart’s strengths and weaknesses. When he found the name Mick Rory listed under both strengths and weaknesses he felt the return of that pool of warmth and affection in his chest but now included fierce protectiveness. There, bold with its clinical detachment and highlighted key phrases was a dissection of Snart’s bond to him. Their partnership broken down into his powerful sense of loyalty based upon his indebtedness from Mick repeatedly saving his life, the safety he craved provided by Mick’s decades long presence and cementing it all, their sexual relationship.

Lisa was Snart’s other weakness. His intense need to protect her was explained by their age and gender difference and that he’d been forced into the role of her caregiver while they lived under the constant threat from their only authority figure, an abusive father. Snart would always feel the urge to protect anyone he felt responsible for.

When Mick finished reading it all he sat back, floored by an epiphany. He saw how Hunter had taken this knowledge and used Snart’s need to protect those he’d formed an emotional attachment to. That when Hunter had viciously demeaned and insulted Mick while they were prisoners of the time pirates, he’d deliberately manipulated him knowing that Mick’s predictable response of hurt and anger would lead to violence. He knew Mick would be driven into an alliance with the pirates. He knew that when Snart was faced with an invasion of pirates, his obsession with control, his aversion to being at the mercy to violent people coupled with his need to protect would force Snart to act even if that meant to break with Mick.

Son of a bitch! They had both been played! Hot anger filled him and not only did it make his physical miseries retreat, it comforted him like an old and welcomed friend.

He opened the last file simply named “Other.” A mosaic of still shots of Snart filled the air in front of him. They were obviously taken at different times and in all of them Snart was caught showing some skin as he changed clothes or entered the shower. Specific areas of the images blinked then they separated themselves and coalesced together to form a complete 3D image of Snart’s naked body rotating slowly in front of him. That image flickered and suddenly it was overlaid with hundreds of different colored marks, some small, some long.

The air emptied from Mick’s lung like he’d been punched in the stomach. Oh, he had a bad feeling about this.

A legend to the side had the word Bones in white, Burns in red, Cuts in yellow and Other in green. Feeling sick to his stomach, he murmured, “Bones.” The image flickered and now there was a faint skeleton visible inside and dozens of jagged white lines decorating them. The marks were mainly concentrated in the arms, ribs and head.

“Right forearm,” he whispered. Five fractures lit up, each with a notation of estimated age at occurrence and the type of fracture: metaphyseal, spiral, simple. After a few seconds, the hologram reverted back and Mick sat there stunned. He’d always knew Lewis Snart was a sick sonvabitch but he’d had no clue what a monster he’d really been. How had Len survived such abuse? Had any of them been treated? What was the longest Len had gone without the ache of a broken bone healing?

And what the fuck was Hunter doing with this information? Buried in the accounts of a battered boy, was there a key to how to further manipulate Len or was Hunter just a sadist and living vicariously as he pictured the abuse happening?

Mick leaned forward and called up the next file, determined to read every word Hunter had entered about the current crew. Damned if he’d sit back and let that Time Bastard fuck with Len or himself and neither were the crew his toys to be played with until they broke. Mick would figure out what Hunter was up to and then he’d expose him. He would get Len away from him. In fact, he would need to get them all away from Hunter now that Len had bonded to some of them. But first he needed more intel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pushed to get this up while it was still September but missed it by a few hours. Hopefully the time between the posting of chapters will decrease. Again, I'm not entirely happy but at least the plot is back on its feet and staggering about!


	13. The Stormwatch Brews

Day Seven:

 

When Len awoke, he was already uneasy. He immediately asked Gideon about Mick’s status and received the same answer he had gotten for the last three days: Mr. Rory was resting quietly in his room. The first day he’d been comforted by the thought Mick could be sleeping through the worst of the withdrawals but by the third day, the declaration was causing a prickling of the skin along the back of his neck. His sixth sense for trouble had been honed and strengthened as he navigated the hazards of his childhood; in truth it was probably the only thing that helped him to survive the years of abuse that only intensified in the last years by his determination to protect his sister as best he could. He never ignored the prickling of his thumbs…or in his case, the back of his neck.

During breakfast, Len ate quietly and observed his teammates. Jax and Stein were chatting happily about their plans for the day; Jax wanted to study the systems of the jump ship again and the professor wanted to understand the fabricators better. Kendra was moody and Raymond hovered around her acting cheerful while he fetched her any number of items she didn’t need or want. Sara seemed sour but Len was sure it was just from observing Raymond’s fawning; it was certainly having that effect on him.

As he stood up to bus his dishes, he heard Rip state he was going to monitor the timeline, that he was worried about what could be happening while they hid in the Time Stream—and those words told Len where he’d be spending his day. He dropped by his cabin and pocketed his deck of cards and a trio of small balls before he sauntered to the flight deck. After considering his options, he sat on the top step into Rip’s study and leaned back comfortably against the door jam. No matter in which room the crew would gather for conversation, he’d be able to listen in.

Since he was alone, he ran his fingers through their warm up exercises, then took out the balls and put both hands through dexterity forms where he moved first one, then two, then all three balls in patterns about the fingers of each hand. The right hand had advanced to two balls if he kept the pace slow and he was satisfied with its improvement. When he heard footsteps approach, he slipped the balls into his pocket and brought out the cards. He was practicing cutting the deck one handed when Rip and Sara walked past him, too well used to his unusual perches to comment.

Len was taking a break with a game of solitaire by the time Kendra and Raymond wandered in an hour later and joined in the conversation. As usual, adults tended not to notice anyone sitting low to the ground and they talked above him, forgetting he was there. Kendra asked about Savage’s centuries old history and Rip gave her some specifics yet somehow never neglected to mention how Savage had killed both the Hawks every time--apologetically of course. Kendra scowled and voiced her rising frustration. Len gathered up his cards from the floor and went back to cutting them one handed, the slight change in activity letting him lift his eyes to study the faces around him.

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t go after him right now,” exclaimed Raymond, his expression excited and eager. “Staying in the Time Stream is literally getting us nowhere.”

When no one spoke up, Len drawled, “We agreed to stay out here until Mick was feeling better.”

“Where is he, anyway? I haven’t seen him in days. Gideon?”

“Mr. Rory is resting comfortably in his cabin.”

Len grimaced at the exact same phrase and stopped shuffling the cards.

“That’s all he does. I don’t see why we can’t still go on a mission and just let him sleep it off,” Raymond said, walking around the table until he stood over Len. Len had to tilt his head all the way back to keep eye contact with Raymond and that pissed him off. He hated being at anyone’s feet and he narrowed his eyes.

“No, Mr. Palmer. However inconvenient this is, we agreed to provide Mr. Rory some time to recuperate,” soothed Rip.

“But he can stay in his cabin and nap while we get down to the business of finally killing Savage!”

“You think Mick’s taking a nap?” Len said frostily. “Taking a vacation maybe?” He pushed himself upwards, not caring that his shoulder bumped hard into Raymond’s hip on the way up; served him right for standing too close.

“Hey! Watch out!” Raymond exclaimed, surprised and slightly angry. He regained his balance by grabbing hold of Len’s upper arm.

A sharp jerk in a direction he hadn’t planned on startled Len and he whirled about to face Raymond, the awkward reaction sending the cards in his hand exploding in a blast of chaos that fluttered around him.

“I’ve told you before, take your hands off of me!” he seethed angrily, tensing his shoulders and balling his hands into fists. Raymond had two seconds before Len punched him in his feckless face.

Suddenly he was being shoved violently away from Raymond and he fell gracelessly across the flight deck. He hit the floor hard and slid backwards into one of the seat’s platform, striking the top of his head against a sharp corner.

Len looked up and was stunned to see Chronos shimmering into visibility as he now threw Raymond against the door jam.

“You don’t touch him!” Chronos growled, punching the scientist hard in the stomach. Ray curled in half and while he was bent over, Chronos slammed a gauntleted fist between the shoulder blades, sending him to his knees. With shouts of alarm ringing through the study, Chronos caught Ray’s arm, pulled it out straight with one hand, then slammed this other hand down on the elbow. There was a loud snap as the joint fractured in the wrong direction and Raymond screamed.

Kendra and Sara darted forward to help, Kendra’s wings expanding as she made a beeline for Raymond. Sara leaped towards Chronos but veered to his flank, forcing him to pivoted towards her. He drew the heat gun from its holster. “No one touches him!”

Len scrambled onto his knees. Mick was wearing only the top half of his hunter armor, the helmet obscuring his eyes. Len bit his lip in fretful indecision; seeing Mick’s eyes were the only way to judge his mood. Without that insight, he’d just have to guess how to safely handle him. Was he back under the influence of the Time Master’s drugs or was he his old partner but confused? He seemed to be acting protective of Len, more or less, so Len took a gamble and hoped for the best. “Mick! Mick!” he called. “Help me up!” He held out his hand and allowed himself to wobble slightly.

Chronos glanced briefly at him then faced the study again, keeping his gun trained on Sara who had inched forward during the distraction, her stance wide and poised for a lunge. Rip was now armed with a pistol that he had dug out of his desk and he had it pointed at Chronos.

Len frantically gestured for Sara to keep back. Her eyes narrowed slightly even if their focus never left Chronos. Len repeated shooing her back and rolled his eyes in exasperation. She straightened, raising her center of gravity. The heat gun shifted towards Kendra who had inched closer to Raymond.

Len could feel his blood, hot and wet, dripping down his skull. He brushed his hand over the area then held it out. “Mick? I, I got hurt. I need your help.”

Chronos took one step back and pivoted enough to see Len out of his peripheral vision and did a double take when he saw the blood.

“Come on, buddy. Time to go. Help me to the safe h—room. Your room. Okay?” He straightened his legs and took a step towards Mick, hand still held out.

Chronos backed out of the study, gun still held at the ready. Kendra rushed to Raymond and helped him turn over. Sara, her stance still loose and neutral, merely watched Chronos as he backed away.  

“Mr. Snart,” Rip called out, his expression concerned. “Will you—“

“I got this,” he interrupted. “Just…leave us alone for a while.” He shot Rip a warning glare. “ _Do not_ try anything.” Mick was close enough now that Len could slowly, carefully put his arm around his shoulder. Len was perfectly capable of walking out of the flight deck under his own power but pretending he needed help seemed to be the best way to keep Mick’s attention on him.

Chronos slid his left arm around Len’s waist and immediately took some of Len’s weight. He still kept his gun trained on their crewmates while he pushed Len out of the room sideways, the result of trying to back out while keeping himself between Len and all the others.

As they hustled down the corridor, Chronos stumbled into the wall.   Len slid his arm down until it was around Chronos’ waist, working his fingers under the carapace of the armor until he could feel Mick beneath his hand, the wall of muscles familiar and hard but worryingly, his skin was hot and his shirt sweat soaked. “I gotcha,” he soothed as he pulled them closer to Mick’s room.

Once inside he guided Chronos to the bed and steadied him as he sat down. He cautiously stepped back while ordering Gideon to lock the door behind them. He waited a few moments to see what the other man would do--was it Chronos or Mick he was faced with—but all he did was rest his elbows on his knees while his hands and head hung wearily down.

“Hey Mick. You look hot in there but not in a good way. How about we get you out of that?” He slowly stepped forward and reached for the helmet, carefully lifting it away and was immediately dismayed. Beads of sweat covered Mick’s forehead and his eyes were bloodshot and glazed. His skin was grey and sagged alarmingly. How had he gotten into this shape in such a short time? With a grimace, he crouched down before him. “Mick, you look like hell.”

“Feel like hell,” he muttered.

Len sighed. “Gideon, when was the last time you monitored Mick?”

“Mr. Rory is resting comfortably in his cabin.”

Len’s lips quirked up at the corners; he always admired sneakiness, even if it was used against him. “Kudos on the sabotage. Just how long have you been spooking about the ship in your badass Casper gear, anyway?”

Mick shook his head listlessly. “Don’t know.” He blinked slowly.

Len frowned as he stood up. He’d never seen Mick so out of it that he wouldn’t respond in some way to lame pun even if it was to look pained. “First, we’re going to get you out of your gear. Then we’re going to the med bay. You will be feeling better soon, buddy.”

It seemed that Mick had shot his wad getting back to his cabin and now he sat listless while Len pulled off the gauntlets and laid them on the bed. Separating the shoulder pieces from the chest and back plates took a little longer as Len had to investigate before he could figure out where the attachments were. Through it all, Mick stared at the floor.

“Gideon, is the med bay empty right now?”

“Mr. Palmer is nearly finished with his treatment and is preparing to exit the room.”

Len crouched down in front of his partner. “Mick, Let’s get you feeling better. Come on, buddy. Up on your feet.”

Slowly, wearily, Mick sighed, his eyes tracking upwards until they focused on Len’s neck. “Snart. Len. I’m not safe to be around right now.” His eyes shifted until they met Len’s. “I’ve had…bad thoughts. You should…. I need to be locked up.”

Len nodded. “Alright,” he said softly. “Once you’ve been treated, we’ll get you somewhere safe—for you and for us. Agreed?”

Exhausted, Mick closed his eyes and nodded once.

Len stood, hands on his hips. “Gideon, tell the others we’re coming out. All we want is to go to the med bay. There’ll be no trouble.” He slipped his hand under Mick’s armpit until his forearm was all the way through to the elbow. “Upsy daisy, big guy.” Straightening up, he pulled Mick up with him. “Let’s go face the music,” he said, his voice straining as he was unexpectedly faced with having to put maximum effort into lifting his very heavy partner.

Len worked it so he was in the lead as they made it to the hallway. He stopped with Mick still in the room and took in the situation. It was pretty much what he expected. Sara was twenty feet away, a staff held at ready. Rip was beside her, his pistol in hand but at least it was pointed at the floor.

“Dirty Harry and Friar Tuck,” he greeted with extra drawl just for the hell of it. “Here’s the plan. I take Mick to the med bay and afterwards I will get him settled into the Waverider’s Tower of London. While we’re in the med bay, get Mick’s mattress moved in. Maybe a few throw pillows. Find out what he’s been eating and drinking and put some of that in there.” He pinned Sara with a hard stare and silently mouthed, “No sharps.”

She gave a slight nod and took a step backwards, twirling the staff until the end was resting on the ground.

He tugged on Mick’s arm. “Come on. Just a few more steps,” he said gently. “I gotcha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this took longer than I wanted and I wanted to post this just before the season premiere of LoT--because that was the day I left for five days in Vegas! Missed it. 
> 
> And this week it's been a new roof being put on and needing to keep the computer under a sheet to protect it from falling debris (and being available to cuddle and soothe the kitties because they are traumatized by THE MONSTERS TRYING TO PULL THE ROOF OFF THE HOUSE!!!)
> 
> BTW, here's a You Tube vid with some of the dexterity exercises for the fingers:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nujfdwhSAO0
> 
> The next chapter will be all hurt/comfort. Poor Mick. Blame it on the two cruel commenters who asked for withdrawals. :(
> 
> Chapter title is from a Jethro Tull song because I couldn't resist.


	14. In Sweet and Stormy Blend

Withdrawals--Day Seven (continued):

They had almost made it to the med bay when Mick sagged to his knees. Len shoved him against the wall to keep him from totally collapsing and with him bolstered up, he was able to wiggle under Mick’s arm. Taking a good grip on his belt he heaved Mick back onto his feet. As he struggled forward under Mick’s nearly dead weight, Ray walked out of the med bay doorway.

The scientist stopped, suddenly wary but as he took in their state, his eyebrows rose in surprise but Len still noticed that the hand that had been rubbing at his elbow curled into a fist.

With Len’s way blocked by an unfriendly and two more behind him with weapons, the thief felt a frisson of alarm crackle through him. The situation was too familiar—he was on the move heading to a safe place while supporting an injured Mick while threats appearing all around him—it had been their lives for too long for him not to feel the same fight or flight responses. He bared his teeth as he felt his heart pounding, his body preparing to fight.

Ray blinked with new awareness and his expression soften with concern. He held his hands out, palms up. “Hey, hey,” he soothed. “I can help you. Let me help?” He waited patiently, proving that he wasn’t a complete dumbass.

Len took a few beats to calm down. The important thing was to get Mick some help. He swallowed back his fear and aggression and nodded once. Ray quickly moved to the other side and wedged himself under Mick’s other arm. When he straightened, they had Mick upright but when they moved forward, Mick’s feet dragged along the floor as they trailed behind them.

As they eased him carefully down into the treatment chair, the diagnosis panels lit up and a cuff snaked up from the side of the chair to wrap around Mick’s lower arm. Muted alarms dinged and red numbers blinked rapidly on wall panel.

“Gideon?” Len asked, concerned.

“Mr. Rory is near to cardiovascular collapse. Beginning emergency treatment to stabilize.”

Len stared at his partner, stunned. He knew he needed help but this? Mick’s skin was a pasty grey and he lay limply, his breathing fast and shallow. “Can you fix him?”

“Fluid support in progress. Correcting electrolyte levels. Administering stimulants to provide vascular support.”

Ray tore his gaze from Mick to stare at Len instead. “How did he get in this state?” And damn if that didn’t sound like an accusation.

“I assumed he _napped_ in the wrong position,” he drawled, feeling the anger he had at himself and Mick finding a fresh and tempting target.

“That’s not what I meant when I said that bef--” Ray protested.

“That’s exactly want you meant.” Len interrupted. He started slowly, deliberately towards Ray. “You want to know how this happened? Here’s the list: Disrespect. Time pirates. Time Masters. Distrust. Withdrawals. Neglect. And being too clever for his own good.” The last he said as he shot Hunter a pointed glare. He returned his scowl to Ray, now nearly nose to nose to the alarmed scientist. “You stand here and watch over him, Raymond. I’ll be back in three minutes and he better not have moved a muscle. If anyone does _anything_ to him, I’m holding you directly and _permanently_ responsible. Clear?”

Eyes round with alarm and looking more like a chastised pre-teen than a grown man had any right to, Ray nodded quickly. “Clear!” he repeated.

Len had an overpowering impulse to whack Raymond on the side of his head—and that jolted him as if he’d fallen into ice water. He knew exactly where that came from: his bastard of a father. When would all the crap associated with Lewis ever end? The reaction to use violence on those that were weaker than him when angered made him angrier still because it was _still_ there. Yes, Raymond was taller and younger than him but he could still _end him_ in less than five seconds if he wanted to. One didn’t spend forty plus years surrounded with violence and crime and not learn all the brutal fine points in glorious vibrant detail.

He took a deep breath, counting to five--because sometimes he didn’t have the fucking luxury of counting to ten--and forced himself to chill out. “Thank you,” he gritted out and left, throwing an angry, wild look at Hunter and Sara as he left. He was furious with everyone right now, himself most of all. He should have checked in with Mick. He _knew_ better than to let the details, any details, slide. Mick was a crafty bastard even in the worst of times and with that Chronos experience/personality overlay? He should have kept a better watch on Mick. He was getting sloppy. Lazy. Well, it stopped now.

He stormed into his cabin and threw on his parka. He checked the pockets for his goggles and gloves then retrieved the case he kept his cold gun in. Flipping open the lid, he pulled the weapon out and checked it over. Satisfied it was in working order, he set it down and strapped on its holster. He felt himself calm as he shoved the gun into its place and felt the comforting weight against his thigh. There was nothing better than a deadly force by his side to help him feel secure and in control unless it was two deadly forces and with Mick and the cold gun, he was untouchable.

He strode back to Mick’s side in under two and a half minutes, cool and in control. He had purpose, knew what he needed to do. He came to a stop next to Mick’s bed and set his back to the wall.

The others had come closer to Mick while he was gone, but now they eyed him warily. Sara rolled her eyes and Ray’s big brown eyes filled with sadness.

“Surely that is unnecessary, Mr. Snart,” Hunter scoffed.

Len smiled. “I wasn’t feeling the love,” he drawled. “Now it doesn’t matter. You have your gun, I have mine.”

Hunter’s lips thinned in exasperation.

Len was unaffected by the attitudes. He shrugged. “You want to prove your good will? Prep the holding cell. Surprise me with how comfy you can make it—you know, more like Stein’s living room and less like Iron Heights.”

Hunter paused and considered his options. “Right. Fine. The brig will be ready by the time Mr. Rory is fit to be discharged.” He whirled about and left. He wasn’t wearing his duster but Len could nevertheless see it swirling around him; it was that dramatic an exit.

Sara stood with her hip cocked. “You’re being a drama queen, Leonard.”

Len smirked. “Competition for the title of queen is pretty high around here. I think of myself as just one of the many ‘drama princesses’ on the Waverider,” he said with extra drawl on ‘princesses.’” He was pretty sure he heard Mick snort but a flick down of his eyes showed Mick still laying there quietly with his eyes closed like the sneaky bastard he was.

Sara’s expression didn’t changed but she said, “When the man’s right, he’s right.” She slapped Ray on the arm. “Come on, Ray. Let’s leave Elsa and Anna alone and give Cinderella a hand with the chores.”

Ray perked up. “Oh! That makes you Mulan, then, doesn’t it? Which one am I? Pocahontas?”

As they disappeared through the doorway, he could hear Sara hum thoughtfully. “No. Belle.”

“What? I don’t want to be Belle!”

“Tough. She has ‘eccentric inventor’ in her blood and she gave up her boring life for adventure. And it’s either her or you get demoted to Olaf,”she said, her voice fading walked further away.  


Len moved closer and rested his hand on Mick’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “You feeling any better?”

Mick opened his eyes but they were still weary and dull with discomfort. “Less like dying, so, better I guess.” A small shudder ran through him.

Len studied the monitor for a few moments, watching as the red blinking numbers turned to green and stayed steady.

“Thanks for the entertainment, by the way. You know I love it when you go all butch and smartass. Made me forget how I was feeling for a bit.”

Len looked pensive, then slipped his hand around Mick’s. He was surprised by the fine tremors he could feel vibrating beneath Mick’s skin that was invisible to his eye. When he tried to lift it, Mick resisted with a frown. Len smiled. “Trust me on this, Mick. You’ll like what I have planned.” When Mick relaxed, Len guided his hand up and behind him until he planted his partner’s hand on his ass.

Mick’s eyebrows shot upwards in surprise. Len felt his strong fingers flex over the rounded muscles then follow the curve down until Mick had found his favorite spot and was cupping him possessively.

Mick lifted his eyes back to meet Len’s. “Not that I’m complaining, but why? This is weird even for you, Len.”

Len smiled. Every time he heard Len instead of Snart it felt like a victory. And now he could see Mick’s normal ruddy complexion returning, his skin losing the looseness—even the furrow between his brows wasn’t so deep. “Are you distracted?”

The corners of Mick’s lips deepened with humor. “You’re always distracting, Sweetcheeks,” Mick said, putting his own version of Len’s drawl on the last word as he gave him a squeeze.

Len smiled back. “Just one choice from my _arsenal_ of weapons.”

Mick closed his eyes, his smile now relaxed and genuine. “Missed this,” he mumbled. He hooked his thumb over Len’s belt and let his hand roam in a soothing circular pattern with the occasional flexing of the fingers. Another shiver ran over him and Mick’s face tensed briefly in pain before relaxing again. “You otta get that cut on your head checked while we’re here. You should never let yourself be seen to be bloodier than your opponent,” he murmured, sounding like he was quoting someone.

Len frowned. He’d never heard that phrase before and wondered anew just what the conversion to hunter had been like for Mick. It was true nonetheless and he’d see to it before they left the med bay.

Fifteen minutes later, Jax walked in cautiously. “Hey, guys. I’ve been sent to tell you the room is ready.” His gaze sharpened when he caught Len straighten suddenly from a wickedly deep probe from Mick’s fingers. The young man leaned to the left to get a better angle as his eyes followed Mick’s arm as it disappeared beneath Len’s parka. He looked suspiciously at Len and Len kept his face blank of everything except a look of vague inquiry.

“Did he…” Did Rory just _goose_ you?” he asked, stunned, his disbelief overcoming his sense of self-preservation.

Len tilted his head in his version of a shrug. “Therapy. Gideon’s orders.”

Jax grimaced and shook his head. “I gotta quit coming in here while you two are here. I’m never the same afterwards.”

Len smothered his urge to laugh as Jax stomped out of the room, the young man’s annoyance beautiful in its simplicity.

***

Two hours later Gideon had pronounced Mick stable and able to leave as long as he still made daily visits to be monitored. His vitals had normalized and while he looked better, he was still experiencing flashes of pain and his shivering was lasting longer. The fine tremors seemed non-stop.

“Do you want to stop by the galley first?” Len asked. “Have a beer maybe?”

Mick’s brow was shiny with a fine sheen of sweat and his expression was preoccupied and pinched in discomfort. “Nah. Haven’t been able to keep anything inside for a few days now.”

“Perhaps Gideon can—“

“Snart. I just want to hole up somewhere safe where I can miserable.”

Len nodded once. Apparently Mick’s tolerance for being pushed was non-existent; best to let it go for now before even more barriers were thrown up. “Alright, Mick,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”

They walked slowly through empty corridors to the brig. As requested, Mick’s mattress was inside. While the frame had been left behind, at least they had brought the bedding and made the bed. The overgrown window sills that were the standard sleeping area on the Waverider were too small for the men as they were all over six feet tall except for Rip Hunter. They had procured mattresses that were more suitable for their height and they came in doubly handy when people paired up.

Mick made a beeline to his bed and gingerly lowered himself down. He curled onto his side and closed his eyes. He either sighed in relief or gave another groan--or maybe it was a combination of both.

Len followed him inside the cell and examined the provisions that had been left on a small table: bottles of water, a pitcher of something that smelled like ginger tea and a package of graham crackers. “They’ve left you water, tea and cookies,” he ventured.

“Don’t forget to lock up on your way out,” Mick muttered, clearly dismissing him.

“Right.” As he left the cell, he ordered, “Gideon, lock the door. Notify me should anyone decide to go in there.” Then he put his back to the wall and allowed himself to slide down until he was sitting on the floor facing the cell with his legs stretched out in front of him. He drew the cold gun and rested it across his lap and let his head fall back against the wall. This could take days but he was a patient man.

After seventeen minutes of fidgeting, Mick sighed and rolled onto his stomach. A tremor shook him before he had settled and Mick fisted his fingers into the linen, groaning in pain.

Yeah, this wasn’t going to work. Len pulled out the communication earbud that he’d left in the pocket from their last big failed scheme to kill Savage and activated it as he put it in his ear.

“Gideon,” he whispered. “Can you put together some sort of topical patch that will make Mick more comfortable?”

“He has strongly refused such help when it has been offered before,” she replied into his earbud.

“With backing off on the weaning, I know. What I want something to take away the worst of the pain and nausea.”

“He has not been amenable to such offers—“

“Leave that to me. Just make it up and have someone bring it in here. Not Rip.”

“It should be ready within twenty minutes.”

Mick shuddered and he tucked his hand under his body. Another shiver hit him ten minutes later and he turned slightly onto his side. He tugged and pulled at the bedding he was laying on, managing to only get a corner of it over his legs before he gave up in frustration and tuck his hands under his armpits.

Len tapped his earpiece again and whispered, “Gideon, have the person bringing the patch also bring the heaviest blanket we have on board.”

“Yes, Mr. Snart.”

For the next twelve minutes, Len watched as Mick shivered frequently, his legs twitching and jerking. His arms coiled around himself and he started to rock gently, the one hand that Len could see mindlessly rubbing his upper arm in time with the movement. Len could hear a small grunt on every fifth exhalation. He wasn’t sure how much more misery Mick could stand or to be honest, how much more he could stand watching his friend suffer through. Len was many things--a liar, a thief, a killer--but he was never cruel. His firsthand experience at witnessing cruelty close up had made him abhor it. There was something that he could do to help Mick and he was going to do it whether Mick wanted it or not.

The door to the corridor opened and Sara strolled in with a folded up blanket and a smile. “Maid service,” she announced. She came to an abrupt stopped and stared at Mick, then pinned Len with narrowed eyes as she assessed him.

Len glided to his feet and holstered his weapon as she approached him. As she handed him the topical patch, she asked, “You planning on staying in there?”

He tilted his head at her. “I might.” He tucked the blanket under his arm and found it heavy for its size and very soft.

“Will you at least leave the cold gun out here?”

“Don’t think so.

“You really think someone on this crew is more likely to hurt you than Mick is?”

“I think it’s more likely that someone on the crew might hurt Mick because they are afraid of him. I’m not afraid of him.”

She frowned. “But he has hurt you, recently even.”

“That’s between me and him. My job is to make sure he gets through the next week worrying about nothing except getting well.”  

“You wanted him in there. If he attacks you I might not be in time to save you.”

“ _Mick_ wanted to be in there,” he corrected. “And the lock on that door is as much about keeping you and the rest out as it is about keeping him in.” He turned to face her fully. “Once before I was faced with the quandary of how to keep this crew and Mick from killing each other and I made a wrong decision. This time, I’ll do what I should have done before.”

“What’s that?”

“Stick by his side and make sure everyone plays nice. Gideon! Open the cell door and lock it back up as soon as I’m inside.”

“Yes, Mr. Snart.”

As soon as he was inside, the door snicked closed behind him. He unbelted the cold gun and holster and laid it on the floor near the head of the bed.

“What are you doing, Snart?” Mick asked, his teeth chattering. “I can’t deal with you now. It’s taking all I got just to keep going.”

“I know. Let me be with you so you don’t have to do this alone,” he said softly. Mick’s rocking and self-hugging—Len knew all about that. As a teen he’d been reduced to that many a time when Lewis had been particularly rough on him. When he was older, Mick had been there for him and suddenly whatever shit he’d been trying to deal with didn’t seem that overwhelming any more. Now, he would be there for Mick and return the favor, but not only out of obligation. Mick had lost himself through no fault of his own and Len was more than willing to help him back to the man Len wanted to share his life with.

And if he got a few bruises along the way, it was a small price to pay.

“I told you I’m not safe to be around,” Mick gritted out.

Len knelt down and started to shake the blanket out. “You couldn’t hurt a kitten right now—“

Mick reared up and grabbed Len by the lapels of his parka and yanked him hard, body slamming him to the mattress between Mick and the transparent wall. “Too bad you’re not a kitten then” he seethed, nose to nose with Len.

Len tried to hide the shock he felt at being so quickly put on his back but damn, Mick was fast! He kept his expression soft, his voice calm. “No, I’m not. But I’m also not afraid of you.”

“You should be,” Mick said, becoming distracted as his eyes traveled downward until he was looking at Len’s chest. He released his grip on the parka and slipped his hands inside until he was holding them against Len like he was warming his hands to a fire. “Oh!” he exclaimed and then slowly lowered himself down onto Len, one hand gliding around Len’s chest to lay spread between his shoulder blades while the other curled over his flank and rested on the hard bone plate of his pelvis. “You’re so hot…like a furnance,” he whispered laying his head on Len’s chest. “You feel like heaven, Snart, or the closest I’ll ever get to it.” He threw a leg over Len’s and groaned with relief.

Mick stopped shivering at least. Len hadn’t been sure what was going to happen when he came into the cell, but he was currently comfortable if a little squashed. It could be worse he thought. He still had the blanket in one hand he with a few tries he flicked it until it covered most of Mick’s body.

“Quit wiggling…” Mick grumbled and rubbed his head into a more comfortable spot. He jerked as another spasm hit. “Fuuck…” he breathed and Len could hear the despair in his voice.

Len anchored one arm around Mick’s back and curled his other hand around Mick’s arm that was resting on his hip. Rubbing soothing circles seemed the most natural thing in the world to do. “Okay, partner, but there’s one more thing before we go to sleep. I want to put a drug patch on you so you won’t be so miserable. It’s just aspirin, or the future equivalent. Will you let me do that for you?”

“Do you have to move to do it?”

‘No, it’s in my pocket. I’ll just slip it onto your back.”

“Aspirin?”

“Yeah.” It should be like aspirin so that was close enough. “Just a little something enough to take the edge off.”

“I’m so tired… Alright,” he conceded. “As long as its aspirin.”  


It was a little awkward, but he managed to pull the patch out of his pocket and stick it to Mick’s skin one handed. “You’ll be feeling better soon, Mick. Go to sleep if you can. Let it go.”

Mick snorted and then tensed in pain. “Such an asshole, Len,” but the words were said in fondness and accompanied by a squeeze from Mick’s strong arms.

“I know. Can’t help it.”

Mick tilted his head and laid a chaste kiss on Len’s chest. “That’s okay, boss. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

With a massive effort of self-control, Len stopped himself from making another _Frozen_ pun as it would only ruin the mood. Even though his partner was miserable and his own leg was falling sleep, Len was content in the moment. Mick may have thought he’d found heaven—and who knows if he’d feel the same way next week--but Len knew the man that was currently squishing him was home to him and had been for many years. He held him a little closer, closed his eyes and drifted towards sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are, a little holiday treat (for those in the US.) I suppose I should resign myself to the fact that updates will be a more every three to four weeks sort of thing. 
> 
> As always, your comments are very appreciated. They do bring us writers joy. :)
> 
> Edited to add: I forgot two things. 
> 
> First, I've a friend who's been feeling blue of late. SoCee is a big Dominic Purcell fan and she is the one that said she wanted me to have Mick huddled up to Len and inside his parka. A lot had to happen to set that up but, Da Dah! There it is! You all have her to thank for suggesting that.
> 
> The second is my subconscious does all the heavy lifting when it comes to the fine art of writing. I'd been listening to the Stormwatch album of late and when I was looking for a chapter title I was drawn to a soft ballad that spoke of reuniting with a loved one. The song title is Home and I STILL didn't figure it out until a couple of hours after I posted the chapter. Thus, the slight rewriting of the last paragraph. Sorry about that.


	15. The Peanut Gallery is Heard From

Withdrawals: Day Seven---still!

Sara watched uneasily as Len approached Mick in the cell. She rushed to the door when Mick tossed Leonard over him and body slammed him into the mattress, but when Mick wrapped himself about Leonard like a starving man around a beef sandwich, she turned her back on them and sat down facing the opposite wall.

It was strange to admit it, but she envied their tenderness, the intimacy they were still capable of sharing with each other despite all the shit they had put each other through. Perhaps they were like a fine carbon blade—forge, melded and bonded through the highest heat and because of that, able to withstand all other fires that would destroy lesser weapons, or bonds in their case.

She herself had been through so much and it had left her reeling and lost. What she would give to have someone to share it with, someone who could understand and could give comfort and support. That was priceless.

She glanced over her shoulder just to confirm that Leonard hadn’t been quietly throttled but instead was cradling Mick, his eyes closed, his face smooth and relaxed, lost in the moment of being with someone he cared for.

What had they been thinking to expect Leonard to put Mick down? In hindsight, she could see it'd been so wrong for a number of reasons. It was unfair to both Mick and Leonard and an extremely poor choice for people who had the temerity to aim at being legends.

Leonard was right. Some things—like people, teammates--required dealing with first if you wanted to retain your soul. She would stay on guard until she was sure everyone on board would be safe.

***

An hour later the door to the corridor opened and Ray walked in holding a tray of food and a coffee mug. He stopped, surprised to see Sara there.

“Oh! I thought Snart would be on guard duty. I brought him some dinner.”

“That’s sweet of you, Ray. You trying to sweeten up Mr. Sourpuss?”

“Well, I…we haven’t been…yes, I guess so.”

“Just put it near the cell door. When he’s hungry enough he’ll come out for it.”

“Out? Where is he? Why isn’t he here, anyway?”

She pinned him with a knowing look, raised her eyebrows and waited.

He glanced in the cell, did a double take then a triple take. “Oh. Oh! OH!” He looked back at Sara, eyes locked on hers like his life depended upon it.   A blush crept up his cheeks.

“You didn’t know?” When he didn’t respond, she added, her voice low, “Is this going to be a problem?”   Seemed like all men were in favor of girl on girl action but they’d get hostile and aggressive when confronted by two men together. She glanced back, making sure nothing had changed in the cell. Nope, just an extra lumpy blanket with four boots sticking out of one end and Mick’s head using the fur-edged parka as a pillow sticking out on the other end. “I think they’re kinda cute together. Nice to see them snuggling instead of sniping at each other.” She flopped back against the transparent cell wall and stared at him. When he was quiet, her eyes narrowed as she waited.

“What? Oh, no. No! No problem. But, well, it’s just that they’re so, ah, so…--“

“Butch? Manly?” she said, deepening her voice.

“Violent,” he said, seeming to surprise himself by his own word choice.

Sara frowned. She was violent; was he saying she couldn't love? “That has nothing to do with one’s ability to love or who you choose to love,” she said stiffly.

He put the tray near the cell door and slide down to sit beside her. “I always thought of love as soft and gentle,” he explained.

“Candlelight and flowers.” She was quiet for a moment. “I think that sort of thing is an option for people who live a privileged lifestyle.”

Ray scowled. “Privileged,” he said flatly.

Sara knew she’d hit a raw nerve with that word. She wondered how often Ray was accused of being privileged, but honestly, that came with the territory when one was filthy rich. She wondered how much power that word had over him, how much it was responsible for him making the Atom suit and joining the Waverider?

“Stability, Raymond,” she clarified. “The privilege of a regular job, a home to come back to every night, of not changing out your burner phone every few months.” She didn’t add about people that’d had rough childhoods, who may never have known a soft and gentle touch. She had seen the numerous decades-old, faded scars on Leonard’s body when she had helped remove his wet clothing after the crocodile attack. She would never ask about them because she already knew too much; Leonard had suffered a childhood filled with terrible physical abuse. She never wanted to hear that story.

“So criminals aren’t capable of romance?”

She mulled that over for a few moments. “Maybe they define romance differently. Maybe “I love you” is planning a heist that involves a bit of arson, or maybe it’s running into a river to pull your lover out of the jaws of a crocodile.”

Ray bobbed his head at that memory. “Flowers seem a little inadequate when you compare them to that.”

“Love conquers all, you can’t start it like a car, you can’t stop it with a gun.”

Puzzled, Ray turned his head and leaned away to get a good look at her. “That’s….”

“Warren Zevon, Haircut,” Mick muttered. “At least Blondie’s song quotes aren’t from Disney films.”

“If that will make you an excitable boy, I can expand to include 80’s music,” Leonard drawled from somewhere beneath Mick.

The door to the corridor opened and Rip swept into the room. “Ah,” he said, focused on Ray and Sara, “I’d wondered where everyone was.” His sharp gaze left them and focused on the lumpy blanket inside the cell. He frowned, his eyes narrowing as he stared.

As his stare lasted for longer than was reasonable, Sara craned her head around to see what was pissing him off. Mick, his face flushed and sweaty, had crawled up even further onto Leonard. He had an arm curled protectively around the fur-lined hood and was scowling back at Rip.

What the hell was going on?

“Should you have allowed the cold gun in there, Ms. Lance?”

“It seemed like trying to take it away from Leonard would have gone poorly, Mr. Hunter.”

He snapped his attention back to her. “Why the sudden formality, Sara?”

“You tell me.”

He went back to staring into the cell.

The boots that were pointed toes up started to move about as they searched for traction.

“Stay,” Mick ordered, his deep voice soft but firm. The boots stilled. “Move along, Hunter,” Mick said, raising his voice. “Nuthin’ to see here.”

Rip’s expression became more calculating. “Gideon!” Rip called out loudly . “Alert me if Mr. Rory attempts to leave his cell.” He looked back at Sara. “I’ll be in my office planning our next move. We can only spare a few more days, I’m afraid. People aren’t meant to spend extensive amounts of time in the Time Stream. It makes them irritable. You might actually feel better if we land, Mr. Rory.” He gave them all a tight smile and left.

After the door snicked closed, the blanket shifted and Mick grunted like he’d been elbowed. “Off. Now,”Leonard ordered, his voice muffled.

Mick rolled over onto his back, spreading his arms out like he was too hot. He groaned with relief.

Leonard sat up, his arms stiff behind him propping him up. He looked disheveled. Heated. It was a good look on him. She could see now why their partnership worked on a personal level. Leonard was always so controlled, so impervious; she could see where Mick’s wild vitality could burn past his borders and light his fire.

Leonard looked down at his clothing and seemed surprised at its wrinkled, mussed up condition while Mick rubbed a circle over his belly with one hand while he glanced at his partner. If she had just walked in, she would have thought they’d just finished bumping uglies. She shifted restlessly as her imagination had a little fun along those lines and not for the first time. Two powerful, beautiful men being passionate together? Hell, yes, that was hot!

She cleared her throat and called out, “You boys need anything?”

Leonard looked around. “Mick? You feel up to some of that tea?”

“Yeah. That patch is helpin’ out.” He rolled to his knees and worked his way to the table that held his tea, water and crackers.

Leonard stood up and walked to the door. “Open her up, Gideon.” The door slid opened and Leonard picked up his tray and walked back inside. “Lock it.”

As the door snicked shut behind him, he glanced over at Ray. “Thanks for dinner, Raymond.”

Ray scrambled to his feet. “No problem. Do you want a tray for breakfast, too?”

“Nah. Mick will need to go to the med bay for his daily visit. We’ll stop by the galley first. Spread the word so those that are uncomfortable by our presence can be somewhere else.”

“No one is uncomforta—“

“Don’t care, Raymond.   Just clear ‘em out before we get there.”

Ray put his hands on his hips and hung his head. “Right. I’ll just a, just leave now.”

“You do that.”

Ray sighed and as he exited, Sara stood up. “Aren’t you being kinda hard on him? He did get a broken arm yesterday because of you.”

“He got a broken arm because he needs to learn to keep his hands to himself. I don’t like people touching me.”

“Mick touches you.”

“Mick’s different. Mick can make my body sing like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir performing Hallelujah.”

Mick snorted.

Sara shook her head in exasperation. “TMI, Leonard.”

“Then quit with the stupid questions! Mick, how does one take a piss in here?” he growled, his temper flaring up.

“Gideon, open up the head,” Mick said, taking a sip of his tea.

The lit panel on the back wall slid to the side behind one of the benches revealing a small alcove that contained a toilet and a sink.

“Same amount of privacy we get in Iron Heights. Criminals in the future still get watched when we take a dump,” Mick said with emphasis on the last word.

Sara pursed her lips. “Someone woke up on the wrong side of their mattress. First, you two have chosen to be in there, and second, time for me to leave. I’m not getting paid enough to watch you take a crap. Have Gideon call me if you want something.”

Both men watched her leave. Tight leather pants on someone walking away from you deserved watching, always.

“Hey, do you think she’s really getting paid?” Mick asked, thoughtfully.

Len paused as he considered it, then shook his head. “Gotta be a figure of speech. Rip’s running a con. He’s picked his marks and dangled the bait. No payment necessary.” He set down his tray on the bench and walked over to stand in front of the toilet.

Mick shook his head. “And you took the bait, why?”

“I told you. We had our own agenda and it was all about acquisitions.”

Mick took another swig of the cold ginger tea. His clothes were still damp from the sweats and were now clinging wetly against his rapidly chilling skin. The shakes would be hitting again soon. “Any regrets?” he asked neutrally.

There was no hesitation. “Yeah,” he said, keeping his back to Mick. “Nothing is worth what you’ve been through.”

That was as good as an apology for Snart. Mick swallowed part of a cracker and waited. Sure enough, his gut gave a warning twinge; he put the rest of the cracker back on the plate.

“You would think there would be some improvements in the Criminal Justice system by now,” Len muttered staring at the meager offerings. He unzipped his fly and got down to business.

***

Len took off his parka, folded it up to use as a pillow and lay down on the mattress. He watched as Mick paced, hovering near the toilet facilities. His partner was restless, his faced pinched in discomfort; he seemed to be using the rhythmic motion to lose himself but it didn't seem to be working. Even still, he waited a few minutes before he spoke up. "Mick. Mick," he called softly. 

Mick didn't even look at him. "What?" he asked, dully.

Len held the corner of the blanket up in invitation. "Come here."

"Gotta keep moving," he said, stubbornly.

"No you don't. I can help."

Mick stopped and said tiredly, "How?"

"Blow job?" Len had to be in the mood before he'd offer that, but if it would help Mick settle, he'd do what he could.

Mick snorted. "Of course you'd offer that when I can't get it up. Fucking drugs."

"Rain check, then," he said smoothly. "I can still give you a shoulder rub. That usually helps you go to sleep." He paused, then added, "Come on, Mick. You still have a long ways to go and it'll go faster if you can sleep through as much as possible." He smiled, wide and cheesy. "Come over here and I'll give you a goodnight kiss."

Mick grunted and moved towards him. "Okay, but only to shut you up."

As Mick crawled into bed with him, Len threw the blanket over him and pulled him close. Mick's skin was cool to the touch and he could feel the muscle tremors in Mick's strong arms as they threaded around his torso. The brief respite from the withdrawals seemed to be over for now. He'd have to ask Gideon how long that patch would work.

"It'll be alright," Len soothed as he studied Mick's face. His eyes were tightly closed and his lips thin with tension. Len pressed himself closer and started a slow, gentle rocking motion. After a few moments, he asked quietly, "Is this helping?

He took Mick's soft hum as approval and sighed with relief. Mick was a mess but he was Len's mess and he'd get him fixed up. All he needed was a few more days. Rip was up to something, though. Len just couldn't decide if it was serious or not. With any luck he could delay whatever it was until Mick was better.

He leaned his face closer and pressed his lips to Mick's cheek. "We'll have you firing on all cylinders again, big guy. Just hold on for now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a chapter in before December ended. Yay, me! Sadly, no sex, though. And also, no drama. Maybe there'll be drama in the next chapter. :)
> 
> Comments are always appreciated. Thank you for sticking with the story.
> 
> And how could I forget?! HAPPY NEW YEAR!!


	16. Mick is Finally Feeling Better

Withdrawals: Day Ten.

“Mr. Rory’s one hundred and forty six essential bio-markers are now registering within normal limits without the support of any corrective measures.”

“How many drugs does he still have in his system?” Len asked, leaning against the bulkhead, toying with the holster of his cold gun. It was really more of a fashion statement than actually being necessary at this point. The tempers of the various crewmembers were all back to normal.

“Twenty two emanating from the implants have been completely turned off. Six more are currently administering between 5-15% of previous levels. In addition, his transdermal patch is still administering the anti-nausea and pain relief components but at a reduced level.”

Mick sighed from where he lay on the treatment chair. “You said it was aspirin.”

“Close enough. Made you feel better and did you no harm.”

“Gideon, what do those six drugs do?” Mick asked, tiredly.

They had awoken less than an hour ago after a good eight hours of rest, but Mick was tired all the time now, or more accurately, worn to the bone. Len’d seen similar things in recovering junkies and it seemed typical of post-withdrawal periods. Lifeless. Uncaring. Unkempt.

Well, he’d see to it Mick didn’t go too far down that road.

“One steroid, testosterone, two mood elevators, an antipsychotic, and an anti-depressant—all at reduced levels. These drugs have been titrated slower for either safety concerns or to treat the side effects of the withdrawals.”

“When can I get ‘em turned off? Get those fuckers taken out?”

Gideon hesitated. “Another ten days would be optimal. Four days is theoretically possible but could lead to a worsening of current side effects. When was the last time you felt the compulsion to harm Mr. Snart?”

Len’s fingers stilled in surprise and he focused his gaze on Mick’s face from under his lashes.

Mick looked up at the ceiling and sighed again, heavier this time. “Musta been before I broke Haircut’s arm. I haven’t felt violent towards anyone since then.” He paused and grunted thoughtfully. “It sure felt good breakin’ his arm, though.”

That explained the locked doors and Mick avoiding him for days. Len felt the urge to ask about it but he stopped himself. It didn’t matter. It hadn’t been Mick; it was the drugs and Mick had still been able to stop himself. That’s all that mattered.

“I vote you take the ten day route. Worst is behind you. No need to push through at top speed to the very end.”

Mick closed his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Gimme the ten day version.”

After a few moments, Gideon said, “Adjustments have been completed. Please return tomorrow morning for your next checkup.”

Len straightened up. ‘That’s our cue. Let me buy you breakfast.”

Mick pushed himself to his feet. “Not hungry.”

“Sure you are,” Len said as he led the way out. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

They walked silently to the galley, then Mick flopped down in a chair.   “Surprise me,” he said dully as he folded his arms across each other on the table and rested his chin on them.

Len walk to the food service area and pulled open a few drawers to collect his ingredients. He knew exactly what to make.

He could see Sara from the corner of his eye, sharing a table with Jax and Stein.   She took a sip of her coffee before she asked, “I may regret asking this, but what are you going to surprise Mick _with_?”

Len heard Ray snicker. “And where we eat our food, too.”

Len glanced over his shoulder and saw Kendra sitting across from him, both of their heads lowered as they tried not to giggle. He ignored them as he reached for a couple of plates from a side cabinet. “Food. Mick’s gone off his feed. Can’t have that. He would waste away until he started looking like Raymond here.”

Into the suddenly silent room, Mick said, “Snart. While I usually enjoying ending what you start, can we just skip brawling for today?”

“Certainly. Consider it done.” He easily picked up two glasses in one hand and balanced a pair of plates with the other. He turned and with a flourish, served Mick his meal. He set the same in front of himself and settled down to eat.

Mick straightened up in surprise and after a moment, reached for his sandwich.

“Peanut butter and jelly for breakfast?” Stein was scandalized.

Jax nodded approvingly. “And on white bread, too. If you’re going to do it, do it right.”

“Served with milk. The comfort meal of children everywhere,” Sara added.   “Grape or strawberry?”

“Grape. It’s Mick’s favorite.”

By the time Rip strode into the room, Mick was just finishing his sandwich. Perfect timing.

“Ah, here you all are. Excellent.   Since Mr. Rory is now feeling better, I believe it is time to leave the Time Stream. I’ve decided on 1871 and the town of Salvation in the Dakota Territory.”

“You’re fooling yourself if you think they won’t find us there,” Mick commented as he picked up his milk.

“There are so many fragmentations I doubt they will find us immediately and by then we will be gone to another.”

“You know, feel free to loop us in whenever it’s convenient,” Kendra said, annoyed.

Rip started on a long, vague explanation that turned immediately to mush in Len’s ears. He tilted his head questioningly at Mick.

“Fragmentations: temporal blind spots, specific places in time the Time Masters can’t see.”

“Ah.”

In the end, Rip announced he would stay on board the Waverider to identify and plot their next stop and Mick would stay to continue his recovery. Len felt fairly certain Rip and Mick would behave themselves and it was safe for him to leave for a few hours. Still, he walked Mick back to their room after stopping by the fabricator for his era-appropriate clothes first.

They had relocated back to their cabin the day before, Len hoping it’d help Mick sleep better. He may have stayed in bed for eight hours but the man had been restless, his strange exhaustion making it difficult stay asleep for long.

As they entered, Mick made a beeline to his bed and flopped down tiredly, turning on his side to watch as Len change into his Western gear. Len set the clothes on a shelf and started to undress, his back to Mick. “Anything I should know?” he asked as he slipped out of his shirt.

“There are many teams of Hunters. They’ll be covering the most likely fragmentations. It’s in Rip’s file that he’s been to Salvation before. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Len settled the button-down shirt in place around his shoulders but left it unbuttoned as he unbuckled his belt. Bending over, he unlaced his boots before he pulled them off, balancing on one leg, then the other. He pushed his pants down and kicked them off as he held up the newly fabricated black denim trousers and examined them.

“Snart.” Mick’s deep voice lingered over the name, drawing it out.

Len paused and glanced over his shoulder. “Hmm?” He watched as Mick’s gaze lingered distractedly on his ass and legs. Then Mick frowned and met his eyes.

“Don’t get captured. Don’t let any of ‘em get captured, but you in particular. Got it?”

“Thought you said their goal was to kill us?”

“And most will but there’s a few Hunters known for using some of their R & R time first. They can do whatever they want to their targets as long as it ends in death.”

“Rest and recreation. That’s sick.”

“Yeah, well, they’re fucked up. I was fucked up. It’s what the Time Masters do to make their killing machines and they don’t care what they get up to as long as the Hunters finish their jobs.” He paused, his face scowling at some memory. “So don’t get captured,” he repeated quietly but his voice was tight with tension.

“All right,” Len said softly.

He finished dressing in silence but when he turned to go, Mick called out, “Len?”

“Yeah?”

“If you do get captured, hang in there. I’ll be coming for you.”

***

Leonard rejoined the others in the fabricator room and claimed the stack of the rest of the apparel he’d requested: a black duster, a gun belt, a Stetson and pair of black gloves. Since Rip was handing out revolvers to everyone, Len buckled the gun belt around his waist. As he bent over to tie the end of the holster around his thigh, he saw Raymond shooting surreptitious glances at him, his brow furrowed in faint puzzlement.

As soon as Rip gave them the last of their briefing—complete with the oft repeated and useless warning to stay out of trouble--the group headed to the exit hatch.

“Raymond, a word,” Len said as he pulled on his gloves.

Ray paused and Len waited until the rest were gone.

“Saw you over there, puttin’ a new label on me, one that says I’m less of a man because I let a man fuck me,” he drawled menacingly. Stepping closer, he lowered his chin so he could use his most effective glare, the one that would freeze most people with incapacitating dread.

Satisfyingly, Raymond stiffened, his eyes widening in alarm. “I, I wasn’t, that wasn’t—”

“Shut up,” he snapped. “Let me tell you two things: First, anyone that labels me as less of a threat to their life because of who I have sex with will eventually end up dead because that sort of thing really pisses me off. Second, Mick ain’t just a man, he’s a force of nature. Taking him on requires the type of balls I doubt you’ll ever have. Now, do we understand each other better, Raymond?”

Raymond slowly nodded his head. “Yes. I meant no disrespect.”

Len turned just enough to pick up his hat and slid it onto his head, pushing it down so the brim was low on his forehead. “I think despite your much vaunted intelligence, you _did_ because you have a _history_ of making one stupid mistake after another. But it stops now. Or _I will_ put a stop to it.”

He snagged his duster on his way out of the room, leaving Raymond in stunned silence behind him. It was in situations like this where Leonard’s ability to clamp down on his anger came in handy. He’d had his fill in his life of privileged white-bread jerks, pushing him down, thinking they were better than him for so many reasons: his lower-class Central City accent, his dirty cop father, his mixed race heritage, his sexual inclination towards men and for being a thief. Their smug arrogance is what made stealing from them so delicious, so irresistible.   It was unfortunate for Raymond that they’d given him a reflexive reaction--an urge to take them down and put them in _their_ place. Raymond was going to learn a hard lesson if he didn’t cut out that juvenile crap soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have achieved plot again. Still no sex. Sad.
> 
> Comments are loved and make me happy. I watch too much news so make me happy! ;)


	17. Salvation

Ten minutes after Snart left, a growing sense of apprehension made Mick pushed himself into a sitting position. Something wasn’t right. There was a memory from his time as Chronos that was nagging at him, something the Pilgrim had said in passing once. Her voice had been cruel and full of amusement and the words didn’t make sense at the time. That wasn’t unusual because at the Vanishing Point, hunters were coming and going as they hopscotched through time. Hunters you were deployed with currently might have memories of events you hadn’t experienced yet. That was a good enough reason for why the hunters were strongly encouraged to not talk about anything but their current mission. They didn’t socialize on their down time, either, and now Mick knew why he never felt the urge to—those damn drugs.

The Pilgrim was different though. She was the Time Master’s pride and joy and was given more latitude in her behavior. Mick remembered that he’d made her uncomfortable, that she felt threated by his success as he rose rapidly through the ranks. His anticipation grew as she became more hostile towards him, knowing that there would come the time when he would need to fight her.

But what _had_ she said as she passed him in the corridor? He could still feel the menace she had aimed at him, her words meant as a physical blow yet they’d made no sense. It was only due to the threat in them that the moment still survived in his memory.

Frustrated and feeling a growing sense of dread, he forced his weariness down and got to his feet. When he entered the bridge, he noted and ignored Rip’s presence in his study. Fuck him. Rogue or not, he was still a Time Bastard with all their twisted rules and attitudes.

He leaned heavily on the center console. “Gideon, show me the ship’s outside surveillance images.”

The screen was filled with a grid of a dozen different views. They had landed in a meadow just outside a town of wooden buildings and muddy streets. From this angle he could see a few people walking between the buildings, going about their business in normal manner.

The sense of dread was growing. The longer Snart was out of his sight, the worse the feeling was becoming. “Hunter! Where are the Waverider’s video drones? I want to see what’s going on inside that town.”

Rip looked up, his expression filled with annoyance. “Lost, I’m afraid, in previous skirmishes. I haven’t had the time to replace them,” he said irritably.

Sloppy, Mick thought to himself. Attitudes like that was probably why his half-assed missions always ended up in the crapper.   “I noticed my armor’s not where I left it. Where is it?”

Rip smiled tightly. “Locked up for the safety of the crew, I’m afraid.”

“I want it back.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Rory. What possible reason could you have for wanting that back?”

Snart got feelings about things going south. He’d act on them and by doing so, had saved their lives on a number of occasions. It’d given Mick a healthy respect for feelings that warned of trouble. It gave him the courage to say, “I gotta feeling. There’s gonna be trouble.”

Rip snorted. “There certainly will be if I give you back your gear.”

Mick felt his hackles rise. It was only a matter of time before Rip hit the end of Mick’s patience. Gritting his teeth, he went back to studying the video feeds.

Five minutes later he jerked upright. “Fuck!” he shouted out. The townspeople were now running frantically about and thin columns of smoke curled up over the roof tops. “Get down here, now!”

Rip hurried to his side.   “What’s happening?”

“Plasma weapon fire. The hunters are here, you asshole! And here comes Haircut running for the ship!” He grabbed hold of Rip’s shirt and pulled. When he was off balance, Mick used his other hand to slam his face into the screen. “Where’s my fuckin’ armor?” he seethed.

“Release me!” Rip demanded angrily and he struggled to free himself.

“My armor!”

Rip wriggled uselessly for a few more seconds before he gave in. “Fine. It’s in a wall compartment in my study, under the left display case.”

Giving Rip’s head an extra bounce as he left, Mick ran into the study and shoved the chair out of the way. The door opened to a simple push to the corner and Mick grabbed the large bag inside, pulling it out.

Ray skidded into the bridge, gasping for breath. “The hunters! They’re here! Kendra’s been shot and Firestorm trying to protect the others. We need better weapons; our bullets are just bouncing off them!”

“How many are there?” Mick asked.

“Three! They were already in the saloon and started shooting at us from the second floor.”

“Did you see what weapons they had?”

“Eh, the tall one in black was shooting plasma bolts from his gauntlets and the one with the leather hood had two guns and the third—”

But Mick had stopped listening.   He remembered what’d been bothering him and it hit him like a punch to the gut. Zelus wore a hood but it wasn’t made of leather. The sick bastard skinned his victims and wore it as a trophy.

_“Sorry Zelus stole your kill,” the Pilgrim had sneered, obviously not sorry at all as she stopped Chronos in the hallway, her hand on his arm. “The hair beak on his hood looks stupid but he’s too in love with it to notice.”_

_Chronos had knocked her hand away and stared back, uncomprehending at her words. Zelus spent too much time being envious of others and not concentrating on his tasks. Zelus would not last long as a hunter. Nothing about Zelus concerned Chronos. He had walked away from the Pilgrim without saying a word._

He had not known what a hair beak was and still didn’t but it all snapped into place like the pieces of a gun. His obsession to have his revenge on Snart had been a distraction until the Time Masters had promised that Snart was his to kill. The Pilgrim’s words, her malice, Zelus and Snart with his unique widow’s peak hairline—it all made sense

And Snart was out there armed with nothing more than a pea-shooter against an ambitious monster who would be delighted to get one up on Chronos by stealing his kill.

“Get your Atom suit and I’ll meet you at the cargo bay exit with the guns!” Rip was ordering. “Mr. Rory,” Rip hesitated at the expression on Mick’s face, then continued, “see you there,” wisely not bothering to waste time giving Mick orders. Mick would do as he saw fit and nothing Rip said was going to change that.

Mick tore into the bag, pulling out the different parts of his armor and started shoving them in place as Rip and Ray ran out of the room. Within two minutes, Mick had everything in place and powered up. He ran into the med bay and threw himself into the chair. “Gideon! The drugs that made me strong and invincible, turn ‘em back on full strength!”

“That is not advisable, M--”

“The crew needs rescuing! I need to be at my best. I’ll deal with the consequences later!”

Three beams of lavender light focused on where the implants were hidden.

“And as soon as I’m out the door, take the Waverider up. Hover above the town. If you see the hunter’s ship trying to escape, stop it. Target the time drive. Do _not_ let them time jump. Got it?”

“Understood, Mr. Rory.”

When the lavender lights flickered off, Mick leapt off the chair and sped out the door. As he ran he could feel the drugs surging into his body. White fire raced through his veins, pouring power and vigor into his muscles, making it easier to run harder, faster. By the time he ran past the first building he felt amazingly strong and alert. He felt like the blood of the gods was in his body.

In front of him, Ray was carrying Kendra in his arms as he raced from the burning jail to the bank next door. Sara dodged plasma bolts as she ran in front of them, holding the door open as they passed through and slamming it shut behind them. Covering their retreat as best he could, Firestorm hovered low in the air in front of the bank taking hits from the hunters.

Cratus, armed with a long gun, was behind a stack of crates in the street while Zelus was on the second story of the saloon across the road. Flames licked out from the main entrance while smoke and the screams from the people trapped inside poured from the saloon’s shattered windows. Rip was behind a loaded wagon and firing up at Pallas, distracting him as the tall hunter stood on the balcony of the jail using both his gauntlets to return fire at Rip and at Firestorm now that the others were safe in the bank.

Mick unslung his pulse rifle from his shoulder and took aim at Cratus’ back as he crouched behind his crates but his shot missed when Cratus ducked a ball of flames from Firestorm.   The wooden crates burst into flames and Cratus rolled away, scrambling to the cover of the corner of a building. He turned and reflexively shot at Mick. After a brief pause, he shot again and yelled “Traitor!”

Mick ducked and dodged most of the shots while closing in on him and those that hit were absorbed by his armor. Cratus was the hunter that trained new recruits in the field and Chronos had learned the protocols from him. Chronos had also used his down time to imagine how he could kill each of the hunters. “Not possible,” he shouted. “I was never on your side; I was on my side!”

Mick rushed the final few steps and dodged a blow to the face. He caught Cratus’ arm and spun him, twising him around until he had him in a head lock. He pulled off his helmet. Mick liked to be sure who he was killing, to look them in the eye. Killing someone you knew should be as personal as possible.

“You’ll never win,” Cratus sneered.

“Wake up, pal, I already did.” Mick had achieved the impossible: Chronos was no more. No other hunter had ever been able to revert back to who they had been.

Cratus hit Mick’s face with a blow from his elbow, knocking him backwards. Mick blocked his follow up and landed a punch to the gut and a pile driver to his head. As Cratus bent over from the blows—just as Chronos knew he would—Mick pulled the sword from the hilt that Cratus wore as armor on his back. Cratus was proud of its construction and it was unique; that was why Chronos had made sure it was a part of the strategy to kill him.

He slashed at Cratus’ gut and swung him around until he was trapped against a hitching post. He thrust downward and the blade slid easily through the gap in Cratus’ shoulder armor, deep into the center of his chest.

Cratus stared up at Mick and Mick was not surprised to see both weariness and relief in the other man’s eyes. “Fool,” he chastised. “The Time Masters have initiated the Omega Protocol. The Pilgrim’s coming for you, Chronos. Your deaths are just a matter of time.” He died as the last word left his lips, the warning a brief, final act of rebellion against the Time Masters.

Mick stared at him, surprised he felt so little. He had fought beside this man for what he had thought was lifetimes. Cratus was an authority figure, but not a Time Master…and he didn’t have time for this. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, dismissing that train of thought. Mick didn’t do feelings after all.

He turned around in time to see Pallas knocked backwards by a rapid series of shots from Rip’s handgun. Off balance, he fell off the jail’s balcony and as he hit the ground, Firestorm blasted him with a huge fireball, killing him instantly.

To his right, a windowless wall of the saloon that faced the alley exploded outward and Ray flew through it, caring a saloon girl in his arms. As he set her down, more people scrambled desperately out of the gap, coughing as smoke poured out with them.

Mick looked up at the balcony. Zelus was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s the hunter that was up there?!” he demanded as the rest of the crew gathered in the street. He frantically checked the faces that surrounded him but did not find the one he was searching for amongst the growing number of strangers. “Where is Snart?” he shouted.

“He was knocked out before we ran from the saloon. Ray! Go back inside! Find Snart!” she ordered urgently.

Ray flew back inside the saloon, straight through a wall of flames engulfing the front door.

Mick ran after him but a hand caught him, pulling him off balance. He swung blindly at whoever was restraining him and was satisfied to see Rip Hunter landing on his ass in the mud. He turned again towards the inferno but now Sara was in his way, her stance wide and ready for a fight.

“Out of my way, Blondie!”

“No! Mick, no! It’s suicide. Ray will find him.” Her voice was firm, commanding.

Mick paused, indecisive. The flames were so beautiful and wild but Snart was in there and now Jax was standing beside Sara, blocking his way.

“Are you talking about your friend, the man in black?” asked the woman who Ray had rescued, pushing through the crowd. Her face was smudged with soot but her expression concerned. “He’s not in there. One of the men you were fighting picked him up and carried him out the second floor exit.”

Mick felt like he’d been punched in the gut. “No,” he whispered as all the air left him. His eyes were drawn back to the flames and all he could see was their fury as they totally consumed the two story building, all he could hear was the explosions as the heavy beams succumbed to the chaos and fell inward. All he could feel was the sharp bite of the intense heat on his face.

And then Mick heard the unmistakable sounds of a time ship’s engines power up. Behind the saloon, the hunter’s ship rose in a vertical take off. 

“No!” Mick roared, taking a step forward but he stopped in despair when Ray burst free from the flames, sparks trailing behind him. His arms were empty. "No!"

Suddenly, behind him he heard the _Waverider’s_ plasma gun fire. He turned and saw the _Waverider_ materializing, a blue beam from its weapons striking the fleeing hunter’s ship precisely in its time drive. The smaller ship tilted and dipped before it righted itself and accelerated away towards the mountains.

The _Waverider_ quickly landed at the edge of town and Mick ran towards it, focused only on the vapor trail of the hunter's ship as it sped out of sight.

“Hurry, everyone! Mr. Palmer, fetch Kendra! Time is of the essence!”

Firestorm flew ahead and Mick could hear the pounding of feet running behind him as Rip and Sara raced with him. Ray flew passed them, Kendra cradled in his arms

They would save Snart. They had to. They simply had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I'm not making you wait a month for an update! Sadly, still no sex but the plot is on fire. ;-)
> 
> As always, I do enjoy your comments; they make my day! Also, what do you think should happen to Snart? Saved in the nick of time? Left in the clutches of the monstrous Zelus? I've got a couple of ideas and am just wondering where readers fall on this scale.


	18. The Chase

As Mick ran past the med bay he heard the sounds of a struggle and Ray’s frantic voice inside calling out for help with Kendra.

“Mr. Palmer! Get her into the chair!” Rip ordered as he rushed into the med bay. “Mr. Jackson, we need your help.”

Mick didn’t stop. The three of them could handle one hurt and frightened bird. He had only one priority and that was to get Snart back. He sprinted straight into the pilot’s chair. “Gideon, is everyone on board?” He knew everyone was but he asked just to make a point for Sara who had raced after him and was now standing a few feet away, staring at him, her expression wary.

“Mr. Snart is not on board,” Gideon answered, just as Sara asked, “What are you doing? Rory? Take off your helmet. I want to see your eyes.”

“Snart’s on the hunter’s ship, blondie. We’re going after him.” He swung his chair around to face forward and took firm hold of the controls. “Gideon, full spectrum analysis of the trail of the hunter’s ship. Identify what they are spilling and lock onto it. Also recalibrate the infrared sensors to pick up the temperature gradients on the air turbulence caused by the ship’s movement. Put all data on the foreword HUD display.” A transparent projection overlay of highlights and notations appeared in front of the window, becoming denser with information as the analysis progressed.

“Rory,” Sara said, warning clear in her voice. She had moved closer.

He raised the Waverider into the air with a purposefully jerk and heard her stumble backwards. “Better buckle up,” he said grinning. It was vital they save Snart but there was still nothing as exciting as a wild chase after a target. Playing cat and mouse with the Waverider when he was Chronos had been as fun as torching a car. He jerked the ship forward like a startled cat.

On the screen in front of him, the path of Zelus’ ship was clearly marked with a combination of radiation, gases, vaporized metals and heat tracings as it flew straight towards the mountains. It kept low as it dove into a canyon and disappeared.

“What the _hell_ is going on!” Rip’s angry voice echoed through the corridor, getting louder as he ran towards the bridge.

Mick urged the ship higher than the peaks in front of him and kept off to the side. He was familiar with Zelus, knew that he was prone to overestimate his own abilities. Sure enough, as they passed a ridge, Zelus darted out at them from cover but had to spin his ship to get the right angle it to fire on the Waverider as he had been expecting them to be right on his tail. Mick banked hard to the right and let his ship dip backwards behind the ridge, the plasma fire from Zelus cutting through the air where they would have been if he’d gone forward.

“MR. RORY!” Rip shouted as the ship shuddered from the percussion of the plasma bolts exploding in front of them, filling the screen with boiling blue flames. “Disengage immediately! If you don’t, I’ll order Gideon—“

“Back off! Try to stop me, it’ll be the last thing you do,” Mick threatened as Stein and Jax ran onto the bridge.

“Rip, Rip!” Sara said, her voice low but urgent. “Rory’s got this. Let him make his play. Everyone buckle up!” Stein and Jax raced to their seats, their eyes wide while Rip threw himself angrily into the nearest chair.

Zelus’ ship jumped forwards, a line of plasma fire coming closer as he flew at them. Mick jerked the controls, sending the Waverider quickly backwards. Just as they were about to be hit by the weapon’s fire, he sharply rolled the ship until it was completely sideways then suddenly accelerated. The two ships raced past each other with only feet to spare as Rory reversed the roll until he was above Zelus’. He lit the standby propulsion engines and sent a violent burst of heated gas down on the smaller ship, slapping it towards the ground.   It sheared wildly through the tops of some pine trees as Zelus struggled for control then evened out as he punched the ship and peeled off southward at top speed.

Mick raced after him, his helmet’s visual display magnifying the distant ship while he studied the Waverider’s analysis of the ship’s path.

“What the hell was that?!” Rip demanded.

“Gideon, keep on their tail. Notify me for any change.” He swiveled the pilot’s chair until he could see the others and lifted off his helmet. Everyone waited tensely for the coming battle between him and Rip.

“Snart’s on that ship. It needs to be knocked down, disabled. They’re running right now until they can figure out his next move.”

“Your piloting of the Waverider was needlessly reckless—”

“Not one shot landed on us,” Mick interrupted. He watched as Rip fought his desire to continue the fight, searching for another tack.

“You know who’s taken Snart?” Mick asked, lowering his voice and filling it with danger.

“Hunters,” Rip replied, annoyed.

“Zelus,” Mick corrected. “You ever hear of him?”

Rip at least paused before he shook his head. “No. I never paid much attention to them specifically.”

Mick grunted. “Just so long as they did their jobs, right? Well, let me tell you about Zelus. He’s cocky, ambitious, envious and a as twisted as all hell. He likes to take some R &R time with his assignments--to torture, rape and kill them. Sometimes he skins them for trophies. He doesn’t always follow that order. Like I said--twisted.”

Mick watched as everyone’s face turned white with shock and horror. Whatever denial Rip had been about to make he left unsaid, suddenly unsure.

“And now he has Snart. This ship isn’t stopping until we get him back.” He swiveled his chair to face forward again and studied the displays, the silence behind him heavy with shock.

They chased Zelus over the endless grassy plains dotted with occasional homesteads and great herds of bison, slowly gaining on the smaller ship. When Zelus abruptly changed course to the west, Mick brought up the long range sensor and mapping display.

“Damn it!”

“What is it, Mr. Rory?” Stein asked worriedly.

“He’s turned towards a weather front, a squall line of severe thunderstorms. The bastard’s gonna use them for cover and the turbulence will destroy his debris trail.”

“Don’t planes usually avoid them?” Sara asked uneasily.

“Yes,” Stein answered. “The wind shear will tear a plane to pieces.”

“Time ships are of a sturdier construction but it is still unadvisable to enter a thunderstorm. Mr. Rory? What are your plans?” Rip asked cautiously.

Mick could feel his anger, his frustration building. He was sick with worry over what Snart would soon be going through but he was unable to stop it. He needed control. He needed a clear head. He needed to not fuck up this rescue.

He swiveled his chair around once more. “We’ll lose them as soon as they enter the storm. We can’t track them in there and we’ll risk severe damage to the Waverider we can’t afford right now.”

“We’re going to have to circle the weather front until we pick up their trail,” Rip summed up reluctantly.

“But that front is at least a hundred miles long,” Jax protested.

“And he could double back as soon as we leave here,” Sara added.

“What are we going to do?” asked Stein. “There are too many variables to consider!”

“He can’t time jump so he’ll be calling for backup and a tow,” Mick said, slowly. He was quiet as he double checked his reasoning before he spoke again. “Zelus will be eager to land and get started on Snart. He’s not a patient man so he won’t hide out in the storm as he can’t be sure he’ll stay undetected. He’ll need a place where a time ship leaking gases and radiation will go undetected, somewhere close. He’ll leave fast as soon as he’s ID’d it. Until we’ve figured it out, we’ll circle the front and scan for his trail,” Mick finished with barely contained anger as he turned to face the window again. He could feel it. This was going to take too long.

Mick headed the ship northwest mainly because he thought to the east and south it was just more of the flat plains that offered no cover. He studied the readouts with fierce attention and paid little mind to the conversation behind him. The crew had gathered around the center console and were discussing possible scenarios. To port, the powerful storm was black and turbulent, lit from within by frequent flashes of lightning. It would be too dangerous to linger in there for long. Zelus was on the move and Mick itched to race after him but he didn’t know where to head.

“Gideon has finished Kendra’s treatment and she’s resting now. What the heck was going on? We were bounced around pretty badly back there,” Ray complained as he joined them.

Everyone chipped in on the explanation but avoided the grislier details of Zelus’ habits and instead just left it that Snart faced torture at his hands.

“Where are we now?” Ray asked.

“Nebraska or Colorado, I think,” ventured Stein.

Glaciers and caves were discussed as possible hiding spots, as was the Royal Gorge and the Grand Canyon. Rip added in the possibility of Zelus submerging his ship in one of the Great Lakes and everyone stopped to stare at him.

“Oh! If it were me, I’d head for Yellowstone,” Ray said excitedly. “I went there once as a boy scout to study.   The magma is so close to the surface that all sorts of elements are released. I mean, it’s mainly the noble gases, methane and hydrogen sulfate.   And of course, carbon dioxide,” he said with a laugh. When no one else laughed, he grew somber. “And there are a lot of isotopes, too. With all that floating about, all this Zelus would have to do is land near a hot spot and stay cloaked to be invisible.”

“Yellowstone?” Mick asked. “Where’s that from here?”

“Wyoming. Northwest corner,” Ray said proudly.

“Fuckin’ useless!” Mick growled. “Gideon! Yellowstone! Map! Now!”

“Yes, Mr. Rory,” the AI said calmly. A topographical map appeared with the storm system overlaid on it. “You are here,” she said as a small blue dot appeared, “and this is the area commonly referred to as Yellowstone.”   A square was highlighted some distance away.

“How far is that?”

“Three hundred fifty miles directly.” The end of the weather front they were skirting curved roughly in the right direction but would still require some amount of time flying away from Yellowstone if they followed their current flight plan. Cutting through the storm would cut their distance by roughly a quarter.

“Gideon, plot a course—“

“I feel that would be unwise, Mr. Rory,” Rip said cautiously. “If we guess wrong, we could miss his trail. And if we fly under or through the storm, we will attract lightning. Being hit by too many bolts _will_ disable the ship.”

“And wouldn’t it be possible that this Zelus’ ship might be hit by lightning and disabled? I think it wise to confirm where the ship exits the storm before we go haring off after a theory,” said Stein, his tone soothing and reasonable.

Feeling trapped, Mick lowered his head and glanced back at them from the corner of his eye. He knew they were right but his frustration and anger made his blood burn. He needed to hit something or set it on fire. Preferably both.

“Gideon,” he growled. “Continue to skirt the storm and scanning for the debris trail. Alert me when you find it, or if your orders change.” He pushed off of the pilot’s chair and turned to face the others. “Everything else stops until we get Snart back.” He narrowed his eyes. “Anyone disagree with that?” he challenged.

Rip stood up and faced him. “No, no. You’re quite right. We will pursue this Zelus with all haste and not stop until we’ve rescued Mr. Snart. On that, we can agree.” He stepped forward, his expression concerned but cautious. “Mr. Rory,” he said hesitantly. “Perhaps you care to take a break? This pursuit will take hours. We will all need to be at our best when we catch up with Mr. Snart and his abductor. Perhaps we should all find time to rest or have a meal.”

Mick was suddenly aware of his appetite coming back full force after days of hardly being able to eat at all. He was ravenous. It had to be a side effect of taking the drugs again, but he’d worry about that later. First eat, then knock the shit out of his punching bag, then get Snart back—hopefully killing Zelus in the process.

He grunted his assent and strode off the bridge. “Call me if there’s news. Otherwise I’ll be back in an hour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, actual notes:  
> HUD = Heads up display. The Waverider has one in forward windows because I say so; it’s a basic, sensible design element. The ship also has some sort of venting/engine thrusting thingy that could be used to clear beneath the ship when landing (and other purposes.) They redesigned the ship quite a lot between season one and two so I think it's rather fluid anyway.
> 
> Do not examine the stuff about Yellowstone too closely; you will be disappointed in my research. 
> 
> Somehow I think this was not what you wanted to read--and would that be Snart in peril? Next chapter, for sure. 
> 
> On the positive side, two posts in February! Yay, me!
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated. Actually, I'm appreciative of all of you that are still sticking with this. It was meant to be a quick one-shot and here we are ten months later, so your patience and support are gold. Thank you!


	19. Captured!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len finds himself at a disadvantage on the hunter's ship

He was falling! Len barely had time to register that fact before his body was slammed into the floor. His senses were stunned by the chaos that surrounded him, a cacophony of shrill alarms and flashing lights. He tried to push himself up but felt the sharp cut of restraints around his wrists. Pulling himself up around his hands he saw he’d been cuffed to a bench that was bolted to the floor. A man’s voice he didn’t recognized was snapping out orders.

The ship jerked into a sharp roll and he slid down the floor. With a kick and a twist, he locked his legs around the bench to secure himself.   A quick glance confirmed he was on the bridge of a time ship, one that was exactly like the one Mick had piloted when he was working for the Time Masters as a hunter. He felt a frisson of fear clench at his gut.

Damnit, he _had_ been captured! Had Mick known this would happen? That warning…. Well, he’d deal with that later. Too much going on now.

He eyed his surroundings again but going slower, taking his time to notice as much detail as he could. There was only one hunter that he could see; a pilot standing at the controls, head covered in a hood, weapons strapped on each thigh and totally focused as he fought to bring the damaged ship under control. Len was unable to decide if he was relieved or not that none of the others had been taken prisoner with him. He was on his own for now.

“Mayday! Mayday to the Vanishing Point. Zelus on the _Hammer_. Time drive is damaged. _Waverider_ is in pursuit. Location is the Salvation frag. Send reinforcements.” The pilot flipped off the communicator and barked out orders to bring up maps.

Len pulled himself up until he could examine his handcuffs. They were the same as what Chronos had used on him. He smiled, and pushed himself up until his hand could reach his waistband. The great thing about having access to a fabricator was that he had ordered Gideon to always make his clothes with a hidden pocket filled with whatever tools he thought he might need. For instance, a hidden pocket on the left held a tool that could pick both the handcuffs or a lock of a jail cell in common use in 1871.

On the right, his fingers coaxed out a tool from a thin slit in a seam. It was a little over an inch long, one end of the metal rod was an allen wrench that would open a panel on the cuffs. The other end had a slight curve that tapered to a point that was perfect for inserting into the controller that would cause the cuffs to open. Jax had been the one that had freed Len’s left hand from the cuffs Chronos had placed on him and when asked, he’d been more than eager to design a custom lock pick for Len.

Making sure the hunter’s attention was elsewhere, he slipped the tool under his tongue where it would be easier to get at when he had a few moments of privacy. He would only have one chance to get the upper hand and he couldn’t waste it. He glanced at the view screen and saw mountains to the fore and the _Waverider_ in pursuit behind them.

“Yes! Here they come! Looks like they want you back, thief!” The hunter laughed as he guided his ship into a canyon, skimming the treetops and banking around the curves.

Len decided laughter modified from inside a helmet sounded like a lame sound effect from a cheap SF film. How was this his life?

“Oh, this is perfect!” he said as he pulled the ship into a side canyon and spun it on its axis until it was facing the way they had come. “When Rip Hunter follows our trail, I’ll blast the _Waverider_ where it’s going to do the most damage and _I’ll_ be the one that brings him down. _I’ll_ be the one that collects the bounty!”

They waited. Len counted off two and a half minutes before he spoke. If he’d timed it right, he should be providing a distraction right when the _Waverider_ closed in on their position. “Hey! What’s your name again?”

The hunter pulled out a gun and shot the end of the bench two feet from Len’s head. “Zelus. Say another word and the next shot takes off your feet.” He holstered his weapon just as the _Waverider_ flew over the ridge above them.

Zelus jerked the nose of the ship up and fired a stream of energy pulses but the _Waverider_ had reversed direction and slipped backwards behind cover. Zelus laughed and charged after them. “Oh, that has to be Chronos at the controls! What a beautiful man! This will be a little tougher,” he said as he continued the stream of weapons fire, pursuing the reversing ship that always stayed just out of reach.

Suddenly, the _Waverider_ reversed direction and surged towards them, rolling until it was standing on edge. The maneuver took Zelus by surprised and he froze as the ship raced towards him. As it passed, the _Hammer_ was slammed downwards and the forward view screen was filled with the pointed tops of a pine forest splintering wildly about them as they were sheared off. The bridge was filled with screeching and flashing alarms as the ship’s AI listed the new damage.

“Oh! Chronos wants you alive, thief! I can—Damnit!” The lights flickered and went out. After a beat, dim, red-tinted emergency lights came on. “Ah. Looks like we’ll have to run since the _Hammer_ can’t fight. We can still out run them. Time to change strategy.”

The ship quickly accelerated and when Len looked at the view screen, he could see the _Waverider_ turning in pursuit. All things considered, the situation had improved. The _Waverider_ had the upper hand since it wasn’t damaged like the _Hammer_ was. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much Len could do for now. He’d have to wait for his chance or to be rescued.

He watched as Zelus pulled up a variety of maps and long range scans. When Zelus’ suddenly straighten spine, Len knew that he’d thought of a plan. Sure enough, he banked the _Hammer_ to the right and opened communications. “Zelus to Vanishing Point. Set a trap for Rip Hunter at the following coordinates: 44.21'12 North, 110.47'55 West. I’ll lure the _Waverider_ there. ETA three and half hours.”

Len couldn’t see where Zelus was setting up the trap, but he could see the enormous storm front in front of them. A wall of black angry clouds hovered over the plains and a massive flash of lightning lit it up from the inside like a Chinese lantern. He was no weatherman but he was pretty sure a monster like that would have a tornado or three inside of it.

“Sure you want to go in there?” he ventured, trying not to sound worried.

“Ordinarily, no.   Lightning plays hell with the calibration of the time drive but since ours is in pieces,” he shrugged.

Ten minutes later, the ship passed under the giant storm. Rain sheeted over the view screens suddenly darkened by the cloud cover and the ship rocked gently as winds buffeted it. A lightning bolt illuminated the bridge briefly before everything was bathed again in the blood red dimness. Len felt his skin crawl and he suddenly regretted watching all those SF and horror films.

Another ten minutes passed. “Godfrey, any sign the _Waverider_ is still following us?”

“All scans are negative.”

“Adjust course for the rendezvous point. Top speed.”

Len tightened his legs around the bench as he felt the ship bank again to the right. Once it straightened out, Zelus turned towards Len and he focused all his attention on his captor.

“Well, well. It seems we’ve got a good three hours to get acquainted,” Zelus said as he pulled off his gloves and laid them on the navigation console. He pulled off the hood and folded it carefully before laying it over the gloves.

Zelus’ head was still concealed by a helmet that seemed to be a twin to the one Chronos had worn. Len regretted not finding out more about the armor; if it had a weakness, it would’ve been handy to know right about now.

“I think it’s time I find out what is it about you that made you so special to Chronos.” He tilted his head as he spread his fingers across his chest and slid his hands down the lumpy vest until they met at this belt. “He was obsessed with you, you know,” he said as he unbuckled his holster. He laid that on the console, too.

Len narrowed his eyes with his best ‘don’t fuck with me!’ expression as his heart sped up in alarm. This was not good. He only had one weapon left and that sometimes got him into more trouble than out of it. “Maybe he didn’t like the company he was in,” he sneered.

Zelus paused and cocked his head. “That was certainly true. Treated us all like we were bugs under his boots.” In a quick, fluid move, he straddled the bench and seized Len’s ankle, trapping the foot on top of the bench. Len kicked out with his other leg, but Zelus pinned it against the bench with his knee.

The hunter picked one-handed at the laces of Len’s boot as he spoke. “He became furious if anyone else talked about taking your bounty. Enraged. It was beautiful to see, all that power, all that _intensity_. And yet, you’re still alive. Why is that?” he said as he pulled off the boot.

Len tried to jerk his foot back but he was held fast. “Let. Go.” His voice was low and full of threat.

Zelus ignored him and pealed his sock off slowly, carefully. When the foot was bare, he turned it slightly and caressed the arch with the tips of his fingers. “Oh! Who knew a foot could look that nice? Your ankle, too, is quite lovely for a man’s leg. I wonder what else you’re hiding, thief?” As he pushed Len’s jeans up his calf, he slid his hand beneath it, supporting the ankle while he rubbed his thumb over the bony prominence.

“What’s this?” Zelus whispered leaning closer to stare at the exposed skin and he stilled, intent on Len’s lower shin.

Len knew exactly what he was staring at, an old jagged scar from where he’d been sliced open on glass as he kicked his way out of a window during a B & E gone bad when he was ten. It had healed badly due to an infection and left a long, wide jagged scar. Len learned two things from that experience: one, always take the time to knock all the glass shards from the frame before scrambling through and two, proper wound care for his injuries.

With Zelus distracted, Len kicked out hard with both feet and scored a very satisfactory hit to the center of Zelus’ chest. The hunter was slammed backwards and landed on his ass. Len knew it was a futile move but damn if he was going to lie passively while he was groped by some futuristic freak.

Zelus rolled to his feet with the practiced ease of a well-trained fighter. Mick had the same grace; people tended to expect someone so tall and broad to be slow and awkward and nothing could be further from the truth. Mick practiced boxing and had the moves of a dancer and a punch like a kick from a mule.

“Yes. I begin to see what attracts Chronos to you,” Zelus said as he took out a spool from his vest pocket and began to unravel the end, flicking open a looped end.

Len took firm hold of the bench leg he was cuffed to and pulled himself closer by bending his elbows. Knees bent, he braced himself and prepared to deliver another kick when Zelus came back in range.

Zelus took one step forward. “A pretty face.” He took another step, putting him just inside Len’s strike zone. “A feisty temperament.” When he stepped forward again, Len lashed out, aiming his kick for a knee. Zelus pivoted sidewise and while the blow connected, it was only glancing. The hunter dropped down and captured Len’s leg, pinning it under his arm as he landed heavily on him. “But not too bright,” he gritted out as he struggled to slip the loop over Len’s boot.

Len kicked and kicked with his free foot, but since it was the bare one and Zelus was wearing an armored vest, it accomplished little but for Len to vent his fury. When Zelus finished, he sat up a little straighter and Len was able to land one last hard blow to the head and the helmet went flying across the bridge.

Zelus flipped over, the move taking him once again out of range and he sat up. Len was finally able to see what his opponent looked like when more lightning lit up the bridge. Surprisingly, Zelus himself was a pretty boy with curly dark hair and a boyishly handsome face. The hunter's eyes shifted from surprised to admiring, all the while not hiding the crazy inside. 

Len knew all sorts of crazy from rubbing shoulders with the dregs of society and this type of crazy was the worst kind. The real kind. The kind that ended up in the headlines for weeks until they were put down—usually violently--by the cops or the Flash. 

And here he was alone, tied hand and foot in front of him. 

Figures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is obviously more of this to come but my choices was to give you a little taste or have you wait for a few more weeks (probably) before I could finish this scene. I promise this isn't a fade to black.
> 
> Also, I wanted to mention that I'd posted a couple of 'why Mick is afraid of giant toads' ficlets but since they are gen, they don't get much traffic, so a brief advertisement in case you're interested.
> 
> Life has gotten a little bit better about giving me some time to write but I think I'm about to lose my desktop computer. It's clicking and I keep getting a modified Blue Screen of Death. And that's another reason to put this up so I don't lose it if the computer kicks the bucket. 
> 
> Enjoy!


	20. Getting to know you, getting to know all about you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have triggers, you might consider skipping this chapter. Note the tags. A brief synopsis will be in the end notes.

Len tried to bend his left knee but his foot was caught. Glancing down, he confirmed that Zelus had tethered his foot to another bench post. He flexed his elbows, testing how much slack he’d protected during the tussle by holding on to the first post. It would be close but he hoped there was enough for him to reach the lock pick in his mouth.

The ship shook and the engine strained to keep in control as they sped through the raging tempest outside. Flashes of lightning illuminated the bridge frequently, bringing some relief to the dull red emergency lighting.

Zelus rolled to his feet and walked around Len, staying carefully out of range of Len’s right leg until he was even with his waist. “This is my favorite part,” he said, grinning. “Right now, you’re a mystery to me but not for long. Chronos was obsessed with killing you but he didnt’. I wonder why? My guardian always said people are only good for two things: fucking or killing. And you’re not dead. I’m going to see what type of man Chronos likes to fuck.” He grinned--like he expected Len to be impressed with his cleverness or something.

Len bit back his snide comeback. It almost seemed possible that Zelus was looking for approval, even from his captive. If the hunter had a ‘need for approval’ hang up, Len could exploit that but he’d need to hold back his remarks. Freely given approval meant nothing when one had been taught to crave the impossible: the rare kind word.

He straddled Len’s chest and knelt down, sitting heavily on Len’s pelvis and pinning him in place. “First things first,” he said and his hand flashed out, gripping Len’s chin with bruising strength.   He leaned forward and peered at Len’s hairline, then frowned. He rubbed vigorously at the widow’s peak with this thumb. “Is this natural? It’s natural, isn’t it? I think I want that.” He sat back.

Want? Too creepy and Len was pretty sure he didn’t want to ask a follow up question about that.

Zelus waited expectantly. “Aren’t you going to ask about that?”

Len gave a slow, disinterested blink of his eyes. “No.”

Zelus scowled and slammed his hands down on either side of Len’s shoulders. “You should, you know. You really should.” He lowered himself until he was laying on Len, his face just a couple of inches from Len’s. “There was a girl once, in the exact same situation as you are now. We were tasked with wiping out her father and all of his family, but I brought her back to the ship for a little fun. She had,” he paused to lick his lips, “she had these nipples that didn’t stick out. They went in. And I thought, ‘Oh, it’s because she’s never been fucked. I can fix that.’ So I did,” he said, rubbing himself against Len, his erection hard and unyielding as it was pushed across his stomach.  

Len couldn’t stop himself from turning his face away from Zelus; he needed that extra inch of space from the source of such foul bragging. He kept eye contact though; these types craved an audience and would get unruly if they thought they were being disrespected.

The hunter’s face was filled with excitement, feverishly so. “I took her a couple of times but her nipples never did perk up. And then,” he smiled, completely without sanity, “and then, I knew I had to have them, to save them because who would believe I’d seen such a thing?”

“What did you do?” Len was positive he didn’t want to know, but he’d seen this sort of madness before. He had a better chance of surviving if he interacted with him.

“I cut them off. I was slicing off the second one when Cratus interfered. He cut her throat before I was done with her. Said she was making too much noise.   That’s why I’m thrilled that we’re alone right now. No one to interfere. No one to stop me.”

Okay, he _really_ needed to keep him too busy talking to have time for doing anything. “You saved them?”

Zelus focused back on Len, instead of his memories. “Yes. I found out that skin stays soft if you tan it with brains. Did you know that?”

“Nope.”

He ran his tongue over his lips. “Takes a while. Makes them smell smoky. ”

“But worth it?”

Zelus blinked, surprised by the question. “Yes.”

“You have them here?”

Zelus sat up. “My hood. They’re on the inside, with all the other good ones. I’ve got some tattoos saved, too.”

“Show ‘em to me?”

Zelus narrowed his eyes. “Later.”

He leaned forward again to fiddle with the handkerchief Len had tied around his throat. The squares of colorful cloth had been issued to each of them on the _Waverider_. Len refused to wear it like a bank robber in a B movie, so he knotted his around his neck. He was regretting that choice now.

“This is like a bow on a present. I like it. Brings out your eyes.” His fingers slipped down to the buttons on Len’s shirt. “Let’s see what else you've got,” he said eagerly. When he pulled the shirt open, he was faced with Len’s undershirt and he frowned. “Another shirt?”

“I get cold.”

Zelus stared at him like he’d never dealt with anyone else like him. “Too bad.” He opened up a pocket on his vest and pulled out a switchblade. A touch flicked the blade out and he sliced through the fabric from hem to neck in one smooth move.

Len quickly turned his face to avoid getting nicked.   Another of the many lightning bolts flashed just as Len watched as Zelus’ face go slack with awe.

“Oh,” he whispered. “Oh my!” He reverently pushed the cloth away, baring more of Len’s skin. “It all makes sense now!”

Nothing made sense but letting the nutcase ramble was taking time away from Zelus’ original plans.

Zelus slit Len’s sleeves open and brushed the edges away from his skin. He stared for a moment then leaped to his feet. Taking hold of Len’s belt, he hefted and rolled him until Len was on his belly. “Oh!” Zelus kept repeating. Len stiffened, arching away as he felt Zelus’ warm, sweaty fingers trace the scars along his back. After a few moments, he was pushed onto his back again and Zelus sat on him.

“I understand now. Chronos did this to you. He recorded his deeds on your skin. He made you his temple.”

He stated it as a fact and since this new conversational pathway seemed to be leading away from immediate rape and/or being skinned, Len was more than ready to encourage it. Mick had done no such thing but he wasn’t about to correct Zelus’ error or bring up Lewis. Instead, he smiled and lowered his face until he was staring intently at the hunter from under his brows. It was a look that made the weak go running and the strong rethink their options. It also tended to make people run off at the mouth from nerves. He waited.

Zelus sat up, leaning back slightly, just enough that Len knew he’d rattled him. The silence stretched and finally, Zelus spoke. “My guardian liked to surround himself with beautiful young people, children who were flawless in their appearance, their manners and their innocence.  I wasn’t happy there so I cut myself, always ‘accidently’ but in a place that would end my perfection. He merely had the regenerators repair the damage, restoring my beauty. I thought I had been clever but he’d noticed my resistance and when the Time Masters came by looking for cast offs, I was sold to them. The Time Masters also do not allow for imperfections but I believe it’s for a different reason. They remind us of the time before our recruitment and they can’t allow that.

“I saw Chronos when he first appeared and he was _majestic_ in his fury and so focused on his past. They soon removed his scars and sent him to the Cognitive Intrusion experts. Afterwards he was controlled, calculating in his actions. The beauty of his fury was gone, but I could still see it was there. I could see it in his eyes. He still wanted to see the world burn.”

Len's eyes flicked up at those words.

Zelus focused back on Len. “You recognize that, don’t you? He shouted it often during those first weeks.” Zelus leaned forward again, closing the distance between their faces. “I see the burns on you, that large one on your shoulder. He did it, didn’t he? Tell me about them.”

***

_Leonard was happy. He’d just chased his five year old sister home, laughing at her squeals of laughter. It was a cold Saturday afternoon and they’d gone to a nearby frozen pond to watch the ice skaters that Lisa loved so much. He’d struck up a conversation with a parent who was there watching her kids. Leonard had been impressed by their ability to skate backwards and jump in the air and the daughter wasn’t much older than Lisa. Turns out there was someone who taught a class in a rink not too far away and the cost wasn’t too bad. Leonard was sure he could manage it between thieving and picking pockets. Lisa had been a leaping, twirling, shrieking mess when he asked her if she’d want to learn. That decided, they’d headed home as Leonard judged it was getting too cold for their clothes._

_He ushered her into the kitchen and they set about the routine of making mac & cheese. He boiled the macaroni while Lisa worked at cutting the block of Velveeta into smaller chunks with a butter knife. He’d just added the cheese into the pot when the door slammed._

_Lewis was home._

_Their father shouted out orders spiced with obscenities for Leonard to come help him. Leonard flicked off the heat to the burner under the pot, ordered Lisa to stay put and then raced into the hallway. He found his father surrounded by a pile of duffle bags and half-filled trash bags. When he reached for the nearest trash bag, Lewis cuffed him across the head and picked it up himself, telling Leonard to bring the rest of it into his office. Leonard hurried after him, ducking more slaps and shoves as Lewis gave him conflicting orders. Closer now, Leonard could smell the whisky on his breath and knew his father’s anger would accelerate until it would be focused on Leonard._

_“Is something burning? What the fuck is burning? You’re useless! Can’t even cook!”_

_Leonard pelted into the kitchen. He was startled to see the burner was on high, the flames curling up the sides of the pot. Lisa was standing immobile and fearfully next to it. He pushed her away and she stumbled into the corner. Turning off the burner he turned to face Lewis just as his father backhanded him into the kitchen table._

_“Did you do that, Lisa? Didn’t I tell you to stay away from the stove? That’s your fucking brother’s job.” As he took a step towards Lisa, she screamed and dropped into a ball._

_“I did it!” Leonard yell, throwing himself in front of his sister. “It was me!”_

_Lewis punched him in the side of his face, spinning him about. He fell to the floor facing Lisa then scrambled on all fours until he was able to curl protectively around her._

_Lewis continued to rant but Leonard was locked in terror, not able to comprehend a word of the red violence surrounding him. He watched Lewis pick up the pot and instinctively raised his arm to shield his head and face. The pot hit him in the back and suddenly Leonard felt nothing but liquid fire as the mac & cheese splashed on him. He yelped once before he could silence himself. His body shook from the intense pain._

_“Clean this shit up!” Lewis yelled and then he was gone._

_Leonard stayed curled around his sister for long moments, unwilling to move in case it made the pain worse._

_“Lenny? Lenny, can we get up now?” she asked softly._

_“Yeah, yeah.” He pivoted slightly and it gave her enough room to wiggle out from beneath him._

_She stood next to him, glancing nervously from him to the floor to the door. “I’m sorry, Lenny. I, I was hungry and I thought if I turned the heat up high, it would cook faster and no one would notice. I’m sorry.”_

_He swallowed back the words that were on the tip of tongue, words born in pain, frustration and anger._

_"Right," he said instead. "Just, ah-- Please don't use the stove if I'm not here, okay?"_

_"Okay." Her voice was small and sorrow filled._

_"Good." He was quiet for a few moments then gathered his courage. He reached under his left arm and pulled at the fabric of his shirt. When nothing happened he rolled his shoulder then froze from the spike of pain that rose above the constant throbbing agony. That wasn't going to work. The food was stuck somehow to his back. "Lisa? Go fetch the spoon."_

_She was standing there quietly holding it out to him, her attitude patient and he realized she had been waiting for a while._

_"Okay. All right. Take the spoon and flick the mac & cheese off."_

_He jerked as she knocked at it a few times. When she tried to pry it off, he could not stop his gasp of pain. "Stop!"_

_She froze. "I'm sorry," she whimpered and he could tell tears were about to fall._

_"It's okay. It's okay. You're helping me out. Let's try the towel, okay? Go fetch the towel, throw it over the mac & cheese, then get a good grip on it and lift. Don't burn your fingers, alright? It will be okay," he soothed as she hesitated._

_She did as he asked but he realized she would be unwilling to pull hard enough to shift it. "Now hold tight. Real tight," he said, putting the snap of command into his words. He jerked his shoulder away from her and his vision dimmed from the flash of excruciating pain. He crouched there, his body locked in agony, unable to do anything else than pant._

_He heard his sister whimper, then was rocked as she was suddenly pressed against his side, her arms clutching him, her face buried against his chest. He glanced over and saw what she had pulled off his back. Dully, he stared at it, not quite understanding what he was seeing. Then it made sense. The mac & cheese had melted the nylon shirt he was wearing, and in turn, that had melted on to his skin. When it came loose, it had pulled his skin off with it. No wonder Lisa had freaked out. Len himself spent the next few minutes holding back his urge to throw up. He'd just have to clean that up,too._

***

“I see the burns on you, that large one on your shoulder. He did it, didn’t he? Tell me about them."

Len gave a slow blink, then lifted his eyes to stare directly at Zelus. "Yes," he hissed. "Chronos did that." 

Zelus froze like a hunting dog on point. "Why?" he asked breathlessly. "Why did he do it?" 

"Because it pleased him to." 

Zelus relaxed fractionally, his eyes drifted up and to his right. Then he looked back down. "And the lashes?" he asked, his voice thick with anticipation.

Of course he'd ask about the long thin scars that crisscrosses his back. They'd faded a lot, thanks to Lisa then Mick rubbing vitamin E and steroid cream into the once thick, roapy scars. It wasn't vanity that made him ask for their help but the fact as long as they were hard and thick, his growth spurts and movements caused them to crack and bleed. Lewis, of course, had been responsible for them. They were made using the electrical cord of a favorite reading lamp of Lewis'. Leonard had accidentally knocked it over when he was nine, back when he hadn't yet learned it was better not to run from his father's rages. Lewis had scavenged the cord and kept it in the magazine caddy next to his over stuffed chair in the den.

Well, best to throw some cold water over whatever nasty thoughts were slithering through his head. 

"They were a part of my training to stay silent."

Zelus frowned. "He didn't want to hear your screams? he asked, puzzled.

Len shrugged as best he could. "Screams are for amateurs."

Frowning, Zelus was still for long moments while he thought over what Len said.

Len waited, feigning disinterest. He continued to do so even when Zelus exploded into action, his fingers digging open Len's belt buckle and button fly. The hunter scrambled backwards, his nails scrapping Len's skin as he clawed the trousers down over his hips. He tugged and yanked until he had them off, the fabric bunched around his left ankle, the one tethered to the bench.

Zelus stared, his gaze bouncing from scar to scar then he seized Len's right thigh. "What is this?!" he demanded. "What caused this?"

A family Doberman that took exception to ten year old Leonard crawling through a mansion's doggy door but Len felt that tale would fall flat. "Chronos' pack."

"His pack?" he asked, obviously at a loss.

Len waited, as if to consider not answering. "He had a pack of attack dogs," he drawled. 

Zelus narrowed his eyes. "Why would _Chronos_ have a pack of dogs?"

He gave a lazy blink and a lopsided smile that broadcasted he was a man of many secrets. "He's always enjoyed a great hunt."

Zelus still seemed uncertain but he kept running his hand over the scar and the concave flesh beneath it. The dog had ripped out some muscle before Lewis had shot it dead. 

While Zelus ran his thumb over the divot, his other hand wandered down to rub over his erection. His gaze slowly took in Len's other scars: the line the razor wire made across his stomach, the jagged marks from broken bottles. The cigarette burns. He watched as Zelus grew more excited, more focused on Len. The hunter undid the fastenings on his own fly and pulled his dick out. He shifted around until he'd lifted Len's right leg and braced the calf on his shoulder. 

Len tried to keep his leg stiff, tried to resist but Zelus, but like Mick when he was Chronos, the hunter was much stronger than normal. Jaw clenched and lips tight, he tried to control his growing fear that was triggered by being helpless while under attack.

Then Zelus was licking at the long scar on his shin, rubbing his cheek against it. He shifted again until he could rub his cock against the dog bite site. He moaned and tried to set up a rhythm but ended up wincing. He stopped and stared at Len.

"Lube," he announced. "I'll be right back." 

*** 

"Mr. Rory, you have received a personal message from the _Hammer,"_ Gideon announced. "It's a video feed from Zelus." After a pause she added, "I can send it through your helmet."

Dread filled Mick; he knew what Zelus was capable of and if Gideon was urging him to view the message privately, it wasn't good. He pushed himself out of bed and snagged the helmet from where he'd left it on the bedside table. He slipped it over his head and then took a deep breath, preparing himself for what was surely going to be shocking. "Play the message."

Even though hunter video capabilities were excellent, it still took him a few moments to understand what he was seeing. Then he could make out Snart lying on the floor, his hands cuffed and pulled over his head. He was naked and large areas of his skin glistened blood red and wet. For one horrific moment he thought Zelus _had_ skinned Snart and his heart thumped erratically and he couldn't seem to breathe.

Suddenly, brilliant white light lit up the room and he realized the ship's emergency lighting had tinted whatever was smeared on Snart so it resembled blood. Now he could see the rise and fall of Snart' flat stomach as he breathed. He was still alive!

"Chronos," Zelus moaned, his voice thick and heavy. "Look what I've done to your temple. Defaced it. Corrupted it. Made it mine." 

His words were choppy and Mick noticed there was a rhythmic bouncing to the video, that the image was from Zelus' helmet. The view dipped as the hunter look down. Mick saw that he had his dick in his hand and was jerking off as he stood over Snart. The hunter groaned loudly as thick, white ropy strands spurted out to land on Snart's chest and face. Snart's wince was almost indecipherable but his eyes remained close, the dark curve of his lashes effectively hiding the man inside.

"Come to us, Chronos! If you hurry you may still find your temple in one piece, if desecrated. Come!"

And on that last word, Len looked up and his eyes burned with hatred. Mick jerked back in alarm at his partner's lividly murderous expression, his skin tightening in fear. Len had a lot of anger, too much anger for one man, really. He worked hard to keep his rage under control because if he didn't, he would be a one man rampage that would only end in a hail of bullets. Whatever he'd been subjected to, it had freed his fury and that was scary as hell. 

Then the image went dark

Mick ripped off his helmet and surged to his feet. "Gideon! Have you located the _Hammer_ yet?

"A set of coordinates were transmitted at the end of the message."

"Change course immediately. Notify the rest of the crew. And no one sees this message but me. Lock it down."

"Mr. Rory? I'm sorry but the message has already been viewed."

Mick scowled. He knew what she was going to say. "Who?"

"Captain Hunter."

Mick' hands curled into fists. While he desperately wanted to pound Hunter into paste, everyone would be needed to rescue Len. He'd have to take a raincheck on that for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You find out about Zelus. He's a monster. You find out about some of Len's scars. That's not pleasant either. The worst physical abuse Len endures is suffering frottage against his scars. He stays feisty. Zelus sends a video message to Mick to taunt him, showing Len naked, and smeared with body fluids that aren't his. Mick finds out Captain Hunter has viewed the message. End of synopsis.
> 
> I've been having major computer problems and that has delayed this chapter. My computer problems are still not fixed. These problems do not allow me to fuss over my words as much as usual and therefore they seem rougher to me. Please forgive me. I'd rather have the story progress rather than try for perfection (which never happens anyway.) What I find fascinating is that my prose style changes depending on whether I'm writing it out on a piece of paper, using my keyboard, or dictating. I find that very strange. 
> 
> This chapter didn't go where I thought it was going to go. I guess I shouldn't be surprised since Len is such a control freak. 
> 
> Also, I read a recent interview of Paul Adelstein where he was given this question about other acting jobs:
> 
> TVLINE | You do sometimes end up naked, though.  
> PA: "Which is a certain kind of _emotional_ violence, I suppose."
> 
> And I thought that's exactly it for Snart. Whereas some readers might feel cheated that Snart got off easy in this chapter, I think his being stripped and examined so closely is a form of violence for him. And of course there is the emotional violence of probing all those old wounds. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! 
> 
> Comments are very much loved and appreciated. Thank you.


	21. The Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Readers with triggers may want to skip to the end notes first. A synopsis will be provided for the scene from Len's POV.

"Gideon, tell the crew l need to talk to 'em. The bridge. Five minutes. Make sure they're all there."

"Yes, Mr. Rory."

He thought about what he needed to say. He thought about what he'd do if Rip Hunter interfered. Then he picked up his helmet and gauntlets and strode out of the room.

When he arrived on the bridge, he found everyone there except for Kendra and Ray, and they'd followed him into the room. Everyone arranged themselves around the center console and waited expectantly.

"What's up?" Sara asked into the sudden quiet.

"There're three things you need to know. First is that Snart's alive."

"How do you know that?" asked Stein.

"Zelus sent me a message."

"Can we see it" ventured Ray cautiously. "There might be--"

"No. No one ever gets to see that," Mick said, scowling at everyone. He ended on Rip and it took real effort to turn away from the captain's carefully expressionless face because Mick still thought he could see a hint of a smirk there. Fucking Time Masters. Everything about them, everything they created, was just a putrid bag of pus. "No one," he growled.

Rip coolly stared back at him. "What's the second item?"

Mick fought to push down the anger he felt surging up. He'd deal with Rip later, he promised himself. "We know where they are. You were right about them heading for Yellowstone, Haircut."

"But that was based on the theory that Zelus needed some place to hide," Ray said.

Mick grunted in approval. "And that brings up the third point: if he's no longer hiding, it's because he knows he's got he upper hand. It's a trap."

"What can we expect?" asked Sara, zeroing in on the need to set up a strategy.

"He's called the Vanishing Point for backup and a tow for the _Hammer_. Cratus told me before I killed him that the Pilgrim has been assigned to us. Omega Protocol."

"Doesn't that mean she'll be tracking down our younger selves?" asked Rip.

"Ordinarily, but if they can use Snart to lure us to them, they'll have the chance to kill us all at once. Quicker, less chance of screwing up the timeline."

"What can you tell us about her? Isn't she their deadliest assassin?" Rip asked, concerned.

"She is. Very proficient in hand to hand and shooting. Has a personal shield that can stop projectiles." He hesitated. "I don't think she's completely human."

"What do you mean?" Ray asked as he leaned forward.

"She can slow time."

Rip seemed confused. "Temporal micro manipulation is well known but the difficulty has been with miniaturization, mobility and purpose."

"She uses it to defend against attacks and has no apparent tech to do it."

"What?"

"She just flings her hands up like, like if Snart was a pissed off traffic cop."

Everyone paused a few moments to imagine that and Mick knew new he'd gotten it right by their various expressions of raised eyebrows and head nods.

"So the tech must be in her arms," mused Ray. "I doubt we'll be able to disarm her."

Everyone stopped and stared at him. "What?"

Jax shook his head. "Dude," he chastised.

"Wh-- oh. That was unintentional."

"We'll need a plan that assumes she'll be using the time device on us. Gideon, can you display a map of where the Hammer is?"

"Certainly, Ms. Lance."

Everyone leaned over the console as Ray pointed out thermal features and explained their details. Ideas were offered, adjusted, turned upside down and fine tuned.

Mick watched the brain storming session as the geniuses were held to practicality by the strategic thinkers and he corrected their course by providing them with information only he knew about the Pilgrim. He wished Snart was here because he'd seen Snart build a plan countless times. He knew Snart would've had Plan A, B, C and D by now, complete with escape clauses for when they each went to hell.

Well, there were a couple of obvious weaknesses he could fix.

"Blondie, Feathers. Come with me." He ignored their questions and led them to the armory. He picked up Snart's cold gun and offered it to Kendra.

She raised her eyebrows. "I'm not sure Leonard would want me--"

"Snart wants to be back here and his chances improve if you're flying about with a weapon that will do some damage against the hunters."

Her gaze swept down to the gun and he watched the small smile form. Haircut thought of her as soft and sweet but Mick recognized she had the heart of a predator. He wasn't sure she had the conviction just yet to thrust a knife into a man but flying around raining frozen death? Yeah, she could do that in defense of her friends.

He gave her the run down on the cold gun and had her practice with it on a crate in cargo hold.

Sara watched patiently, her sharp eyes picking up the lesson, too. When he was done, she asked, "What about me? You gonna lend me your heat gun?"

Mick grunted. "I considered it but now I think it duplicates Firestorm--it's possible defending against a variety of weapons may slow her down some. Take the pulse rifle. You're familiar with it anyway."

"And you? What's your pleasure?"

He picked up his heat gun and eyed its charge. "Burning. They'll be nothing left of that fucker Zelus by the time I'm done with him."

***

Leonard stared at the ceiling above him, subtly flexing the muscles of his arms and legs. He couldn't do much about the pain in his joints forced too long to strain at an awkward position, but tensing and relaxing the muscles would keep them from stiffening up too much. He kept his focus on the ceiling, working his muscles, and keeping track of the time.

And, of course, watching Zelus from the corner of his eye.

By Len's reckoning, they had about thirty minutes before they reached their destination. If Zelus had anything left he wanted to do to Len, he'd have to start soon. Len didn't have much hope the hunter would simply hump another scar that caught his eye and he mentally prepared himself for something more violent, more painful.

Len knew all about that.

He'd grown up in survival mode and while the abuse had been mostly physical and emotional, he'd been unfortunate enough to have been forced sexually a few times, too. He knew his attackers hadn't been after sex--at least not _only_ sex. He'd looked into their eyes and seen lust paired with the need to dominate, to humiliate; the same combination he'd seen in Lewis' eyes each time he advanced on Len, eager to destroy his son with his own hands. These events had happened when he was a teen and they changed him. His father's abuse had left him paralyzed with fear and prone to panic attacks, but the first sexual assault had tapped into the fury he had not known he'd owned, a rage he'd been unable to express around Lewis. The anger gave him power and focus, and his revenge on them had given him confidence. He embraced his anger because anger got things _done_. And when he'd settled into a partnership with Mick, he became more stable; Mick's loyalty and having someone he could depend upon to watch his back made him feel more secure and his necessary role as a calming force for Mick also helped him to hone his own control.

Len's attention snapped back on the hunter as Zelus parted his legs wider. He was leaning against the bulkhead, naked, his legs splayed wide as he played with himself. This would be his fifth erection. Len wondered why the Time Masters thought it necessary to have their hunters pop wood so frequently or was it a side effect of the many dru--

"You really are quite beautiful. I can see why Chronos kept you. Such long, graceful limbs. I bet Chronos ordered you to be naked as you served him, so he could see the majesty of his carvings on your skin. My guardian also surrounded himself with art but none was as perfect as you."

Len could see Zelus' cock was now long, hard and very red. He considered mocking its size even though it was fairly normal in length and girth. He could brag how Mick's cock was of godly proportions but he saw two outcomes there--either Zelus would be intimidated and cowed, or more likely, incandescent with anger. All things considered, it was too dangerous to try at this time. Maybe later if things got dire.

"I had planned to throw what was left of you at Chronos' feet when I meet him in battle, but now..." he paused as he surged to his feet and came closer. "Now I find I want to keep you for a time. I wonder what you'd look like with my own designs upon you, maybe some color...." His gaze wandered across Len's chest, stomach and lower.

Len worked hard to ignore him but in the end the threat was too real, too close and he brought up his knee and tilted it, giving the only protection he was capable of to his stomach and groin. He supposed he should be grateful that Zelus had a body modification fetish that was powerful enough to overcome his desire for raping.

Zelus crouched lower as he ran his fingers over the old dog bite, sticky with drying lube and cum. "This is...I've never seen anything like it," he whispered.

Len flexed the muscle, knowing that it would cause the divot to ripple. Zelus leaned closer, intrigued. When Len judged he'd get no closer, he hit out with his knee, hard and fast. There was a very satisfying crack as his knee struck Zelus' nose and the hunter fell backwards with a yelp. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough to knock him out. Well, he had to take a shot.

Zelus wiped his nose with the back of his hand, then glanced at it, smiling at the smear of blood he saw there. "You're not ever going to cooperate, are you?"

"Doubt it," Len drawled.

"Time grows short and I think I know just the thing to help you get in the mood."

When Zelus left the room, Len jerked his leg frantically, trying desperately to free it from its tether. He was just beginning to feel some air under his sole of his foot when Zelus came back onto the bridge.

He stopped near Len's head and triumphantly held out a hypospray injector. "Someone's going to be a lot more compliant," he said with a leer. He knelt down and quickly injected its contents into Len's bare bicep.

Leonard had barely enough time to panic before he could feel the drug spread through his system. A surge of molten heat filled his body and with it came weakness and lethargy. He tried to bring up his knee again, but he could barely lift it.

"Much better," he heard Zelus say but the words echoed and sounded distant. "Let's tidy you up first; we're expecting an important visitor."

Len felt his trousers cut away from where they had been bunched around his left calf, then he was rolled onto his side. Strong hands pulled and pushed his free leg until his thigh was pressed against his chest. Something cold and hard was shoved into him and he heard a slurping noise. More lube. Apparently Zelus hadn't forgotten about raping him after all. Sensation bloomed low in his gut and he slowly recognized coldness while the rest of him burned.  Sweat beads tickled as they rolled down his face and back.

Fingers pushed into him and roughly stretched the ring of muscle. He squirmed and tightened his gluts, pushing out the fingers. A second hand slapped his ass, hard and stinging and then there was a pause. A two more slaps hit but in slightly different areas, the sharp stings ignited a frisson that shuddered through his body.

"Oh! There's the color I wanted! It's amazing the way the scars stay white while the skin turns red," his voice high with excitement.

Hot, sweaty hands ran over him, alternately squeezing, pinching and slapping at his rounded muscles. He closed his eyes as a wave of dizziness hit. So many sensations--too many to sort out.

"Wait, I know what would work better."

Len could hear him fumbling with his discarded clothes and then the sound that still could freeze his blood: the rough hiss of a leather belt sliding its way free. He rolled himself even further onto his belly and pressed his face into his bicep, fighting back the fear that threatened to overwhelm him.

 _Snap!_  He jerked as a burning strip of fire flared across his back and he groaned at the intense pleasure that flared in his brain.   _Snap!_  Harder this time, the pain becoming pleasure almost instantly.   _Snap! Snap! Snap!_  His brain was filled with brilliant light, his toes curling as he felt an orgasm rip through him.  "Stop," he whispered. 

"Don't you mean 'more'?" Zelus asked with a laugh.  A hand reached up between Len's thighs and roughly fingered and probed at his genitals.  "What? How can you be limp? Can't get it up? You just need more stimulation!" He gripped the delicate flesh and squeezed hard, ending with a few wicked yanks.

"Please," he moaned. "No more." He knew that should hurt but instead there were only the blinding flashes of white in his head. 

"More? Be happy to!" _Snap! Snap! Snap! Snap!_

Time didn't exist. There was only the sound of the belt, pleasure instead of pain, his moans and Zelus saying things Len could no longer comprehend.

Pain, Len could deal with. He was familiar with it, knew how to push it down and away from him, how to survive it. But physical abuse that gave him pleasure frightened him, confused him. It was twisted and he had no defense for it.

It had been a long time since he'd been this terrified.

***

"Zelus!" A woman's voice, commanding, brought Len back to awareness.  "What are you doing?" Her displeasure was plain. 

"R & R."

"Which one is that?" Her voice was closer. "Still the thief? He's a mess."

Len heard a weapon power up. He felt as if he should care but he could feel little beyond the constant pulse of ecstasy that thrummed through him.

"No! He's mine! I haven't finished with him yet."

"How can you still want that? Besides, we have a job to do. They'll be here soon."

"Yes, into my trap! I want the the credit for Hunter and Chronos." 

"Not happening as long as you're naked and covered in slime."

"All right, but don't kill him."

"He's suffering."

"He's dosed with K6. Watch."

Something sharp pressed into his back and he arched into it, moaning.  A hand rested on his back and he waited. A few moments later the fingers dug into him, the nails raking down his ruined back. He hissed as a shudder of pure bliss overwhelmed him and he clung to consciousness.

Cold metal was pressed against his temple. "Either you go get ready or I end him now."

"I'm going!"  

All touch left him and he heard footsteps move away from him.  He breathed deeply, slowly, using the familiar exercises to focus his attention on regaining control, of fighting his way out of the endorphins that were flooding his brain.

Cool fingers cupped his cheek, turning his head until he could see the woman's face. Her dark hair curled thickly over her shoulders and he suddenly, desperately wanted Lisa in his arms where he could hold her tight and never let go. Hot tears trickle down his face.

"I can't believe Chronos left us for you," she said,smirking.  "He thought he was better than me.  Arrogant.  It will be his downfall. I'll take great pleasure in killing him.  Too bad you'll not live long enough to enjoy finally being free of him."  

She let go and his head dropped back onto the cool metal deck. He curled his fingers, relieved to still feel the bench post in his hands.  He swallowed, using the movement to hide as he checked for the lock pick beneath his tongue.

When they left, he would be ready to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Synopsis: Zelus starts preparing to rape Len, but gets distracted by the pretty colors caused by whipping him instead. Len gets dosed with a drug that turns all sensation into pleasure. Len is distressed by that. The Pilgrim shows up and gets Zelus to focus on the coming fight instead of Len. End of synopsis.
> 
> Hey! Two chapters in one month even without my computer. The story has gotten intense and I know that's not everybody's cup of tea, and that's okay.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated. Thank you for reading.


	22. Escape!

Leonard lay quietly on the floor, waiting, his cheek pressing against the cold deck. He knew the metal deck was cold even though his brain was currently accepting any stimulus as a form of pleasure. The sweet tickle made him want to push his face into the floor and scrape it back and forth hard to chase that feeling down and get more of it but he made himself lie still. He knew that his arms, straining for hours in an awkward position should be burning but instead waves of bliss rolled repeatedly from the overworked muscles. His entire back should have been nothing but agony, but instead it registered as a continual, unrelenting, intense pleasure and honestly, that was just agony of another kind. Pleasure was never meant to be unending; even orgasms, the height of pleasure, were only meant to be a sweet blast of exquisite intensity made all the more perfect because they receded just when they were starting to hurt.

This never-ending assault of intensity was painful to Len even if it would have read as enjoyable had it been briefer. He had been a child that had valued the days when he could simply enjoy a lack of pain from bruises or broken bones, the days when Lewis was gone and Len wasn't constantly in a state of apprehension or fear. He was a man that appreciated the calm, the quiet, the lack of feeling. He felt more in control on those days--but he never felt more alive than on the days when finally free of Lewis, he'd mix danger with chaos and still keep control over it all. It was one of the more addicting aspects of his partnership with Mick--a man was the very embodiment of danger and chaos. He was sympathetic to Mick's attraction to fire; it's just that where Mick wanted to see the fire run wild, Len wanted to be in control of it. To achieve the mastery of all situations required him to embrace the cold. No one could hurt him then.

He suddenly realized the voices had moved further away as his attention had wandered. The woman had moved to the exit of the ship. By concentrating, Leonard could hear her talking to one, no make that two, men. She was obviously in charge and was giving them their orders for the coming fight. They were to stay next to the ship and prevent anyone from rescuing Leonard while she'd advanced and took on the crew of the Waverider alone. When Len heard Zelus join their conversation, he sighed in sweet relief. It was finally time to start his escape.

He had a plan. He actually had a few plans. More importantly he had a list of what he needed to do and in what order and he was glad he spent his time focusing on his plan while Zelus had been mauling him because it was like slogging through waist deep water to think right now. The drug made everything sluggish but it also seemed to cut off his ability to extrapolate and multitask. So, escape, and to do that, the list.

He released his grip on the bench post and ran quickly through some finger exercises to regain his dexterity. Stretching one arm up as high as it would go, he pulled the other one as close to his face as he could manage. By arching his head upwards and bending his hand down, his fingers were just shy of his mouth. He pushed the lock pick between his lips and carefully inched it out until he could trap it between the tips of two fingers. Straightening his hand, he quickly had the pick under control and rolled it until friction removed all slickness.

Straightening his arms, he glanced up at his hands. The pick was in his right and...that was wrong. He'd decided he'd use his left as it was still more trustworthy than his right. So, he rotated the cuff on right wrist until panel was front and center, then transfered the pick to his left hand.

Okay. Done.

Next, open panel. This he could do with his eyes closed because he'd practiced with his eyes closed. Easy. He closed his eyes and carefully fitted the beveled end into the head of the screw. Lefty loosey, righty tighty. Still the rule hundreds of years into the future. Only two screws to remove, then reverse the pick and use the pointy end to pry open the panel.

The panel clattered as it fell onto the deck.

Len froze. Had he considered that? How had he overlooked that? He knew better than that! Had the voices paused? No, they hadn't. Okay, he needed those cuffs off now. He angled the pick inside and ran the tip lightly over the landmarks until he found the bank of dip switches. Yes, there were six, just like in the pair Chronos had used on him. It hadn't taken long to convince Gideon into giving him the default settings to open any set of cuffs. The pattern was, was, was...cantaloupe. No. Too many letters. Honeydew? Nope. Watermelons--wait, Melons! Rhythms with Felons! High, low, high, low, low, low.

Click! He quietly removed cuff, unlooped the cuffs from around bench post and repeated his actions to remove cuff from other hand. Ha! He dropped the pick even when watching! He was right to think that his right hand was still not of super thief quality. When his other wrist was freed, he slipped the lock pick back under his tongue just in case.

He sat up and inched down until he had put slack in the line that restrained his foot and bit back a groan at frisson of delight that nearly whited out his sight. Zelus had not spared his ass and thighs when he was whipping him and scooting on the abraded flesh felt exquisite--for now. He refocused his attention on the binding and slowly leaned down and was able to loosen the loop and slide it off his boot.

He was finally free.

He looked around. Where was his other shoe and his jeans? The only thing in sight was the belt. Could be useful. Better take it. He ignored the damp, sticky surface as he loosely coiled it for better carrying. He padded quietly down to where the corridor teed into two directions; right was out, left was to the crew quarters. He waited until they were all facing away and slipped quickly into the first open doorway to his left.  
  
It was the galley. He glanced around. No food was left out but he wasn’t hungry anyway. He knew he should drink but he didn’t want to chance activating the food processor in case it would cause an alert. There was a pool of black material on the floor. He carefully lifted it up and was surprised to recognize his duster. He quickly pulled it on, ignoring the fresh wave of brilliant sensation that blocked out all else for a few seconds as the rough cloth brushed over his wounded back. The relief that flooded through him at finally being able to cover himself was palpable and gave him a boost by feeling a bit more in control. He was getting this done. The plan was working.

The second exit from the galley was before him. When he realized there were a variety of ships out there that he could unwillingly end up on, he had Gideon supply him with their schematics. Granted there were too many to memorize but there were some basic design patterns--the most common one was that anything larger than a jump ship had at least two airlocks, with one of them near the crew quarters on the opposite side of a ship from the main one.

He defaulted into his stealth mode as he closed in on the doorway. No one should be back here but he couldn’t count on it. He paused to listened at the door jam and carefully peeked around the corner when it remained silent. The airlock was twenty paces away. He straightened back up and rethought his options: leave immediately as is or take the time to search for a weapon or even his other shoe. His gut told him to just go and get as far away as he could, and listening to his gut was what kept him alive.

He slipped silently to the airlock and studied the keypad. It was locked but Gideon had also given him the code that was for emergencies and to be used if one needed to evacuate a ship and would fully open the airlock to the outside. It should work here but would it send out an alert? Dare he try it now or wait for the distraction of the coming battle? He couldn’t outrun the hunters in his present state.

He quickly examined the floor and ceiling and found his compromise--a service panel on the floor. He bent down and pride it up, ignoring the bright jolt of pleasure caused by the movement of the duster pulling over his skin. There was an access duct that he could easily fit into but he’d have to be fast. And he’d have to hope this AI was just as negligent on volunteering information as Gideon was.

Gathering some blood from his back, he smeared handprints on the hatch and the keypad then wiped his hand clean. He took a few deep breaths then punched in the code. The airlock opened and the AI loudly announced “Emergency activation of starboard airlock and hatch.” Len dropped into the access duct and pulled the grating into place above him.

Seconds later, two people ran over his hiding place to the airlock.

“Your thief has escaped.” The woman’s voice dripped with scorn.

“How?! He was cuffed to the ship!” Zelus shouted, his voice suddenly distant. He must have put his head outside as he tried to spot Len.

“Leave him. We can find him later. The _Waverider_ is five minutes away and we need to get into position. Zelus!” she snapped, her voice harsh with command. “Leave him!”

After they both left, Len waited two minutes before he quietly left his hiding place. He paused at the outside hatch and scanned his surroundings. A pine forest started twenty feet away and thick patches of snow were scattered about. The sun was low on the horizon; it would be dark soon. A breeze tickled over his exposed skin and Len was startled to briefly feel a nip of cold to the air. That cursed drug must be starting to wear off.

He looped the belt over his neck and quickly buttoned up the duster before he leaped lightly to the ground. He landed off-balance and went to one knee, hands on the earth in front to steady himself. He glanced behind and underneath the ship and was relieved to see four sets of legs walking slowly away from the ship. Eyes forward, he ran for the trees. Once he was out of sight of the ship, he cut sharply to his left where the trees seemed thicker.

The distinctive whine of a time ship startled him. He glanced up to see the _Waverider_ skim over the canopy above him--which is why he didn't see that he was suddenly at the edge of a drop off. He tried to catch a tree trunk but his momentum was against him. He slid down a crumbly drop of about 15 feet on his back, landing in a pile of loose gravel and dirt, momentarily stunned. Dust surrounded him and he coughed, wiping the grime from his face and trying to ignore the orgasmic throbbing from his back.

Before him was a curious sight, a flat valley, grey and bare with a few wispy columns of mist, was maybe 300 feet across before the land on the other side rose into another pine forest. A stream wandered past, coming close to him before veering away. The only vegetation were a few small tuffs of dead yellow grasses. Oddly, the air smelt of sulphur. He walked towards the stream, skirting a bubbling spring that was a curious shade of powder blue. The clarity was amazing and he paused to stare into its depths, the fog curling up lightly before the breeze dispersed it.

He knelt down to scoop some water into his mouth but paused again, still trying to puzzle out the spring’s odd appearance. Could the water have a high acid content? Was that a thing that happened? He slide the belt off and dangled half of it in the water. He was surprised to see clouds of crimson roll off it.

Movement caught the corner of his eye and he looked up to see the _Waverider_ land a quarter of a mile to his left where the valley widened out. Firestorm and Raymond flew out of the ship and were immediately the target of energy blasts. They buzzed about, returning fire.

Being out in the open was no place for an unarmed person but if he could cross over to the trees, he could circle around and put the _Waverider_ between himself and the hunters.. He glanced again at the bubbling spring and had a brief flash of heat. He suddenly realized his bare foot and knee were hot where they touched the ground and the beads of moisture on his face was from _steam_. The pool was bubbling because it was boiling! The water around the strip of leather was now brownish and he watched as filaments flaked off and dissolved.

He fell back from the sudden danger and froze when he both heard and felt the ground crack beneath him. He rolled away from the pool and scrambled frantically back to the cliff side. A loud hiss made him look back and he saw a geyser shoot upwards a hundred feet away, its column of frothy water surging a dozen feet in the air. He eyed the clearing with fresh understanding; there was no snow because the area was rife with hot springs and who knew what else! There was no way he could safely cross to the other side and come up behind the _Waverider_.

He turned away from the battle behind him, keeping close to the escarpment. He stumbled past short mud chimneys that held more boiling water or mud, sputtering and smelling strongly of sulfur. Two hundred feet later, there was a shallowing of the cliff and Len was able to scramble back up into the forest. Still on his hands and knees and breathing hard, he realized there were now flashes of pain spiking through the waves of pleasure; the drug was definitely wearing off.

Just ahead was a downed tree, bare of bark, its surface smooth and white. He limped over to it, suddenly aware his right foot was throbbing with pain. He carefully pushed himself upon the trunk and hissed at the sharp burn he felt from where his thighs and rump rubbed against the tree. His ability to feel pain was returning. Pain he knew how to handle, how to push it down or turn it into anger and push it away.

He took in a couple of deep, calming breaths. He would stay here for now. Mick and the others would destroy Zelus and the hunters, then they would search for him. Mick had promised to come for him. Mick would find him.

And if it wasn't Mick and the crew that came for him, he wasn't going back at all. Better to die here than to be Zelus’ play thing again.

His foot was really starting to hurt worse. Slowly bending his leg so he could see the sole of his foot, he frowned at the bloody mess he found. He unknotted the bandana from his neck, folded it, and started wiping away the blood and dirt. He winced as he discovered sharp little rocks and splinters embedded in all the cuts and punctures. This was going to take a while.

He had just finished wrapping the bandana around his foot and tying it off to provide some protection when he heard a twig snap behind him. Still in the act of turning, he heard the whine of an energy weapon and he was suddenly flying through the air. He landed face first in a snow bank, stunned and groggy. Had he been shot? He pushed himself up and then was squashed flat as someone landed on him. He struggled to turn around, to throw his attacker off, but he was pushed back into the snow. His duster was yanked up, the fabric now binding his arms up and making them useless. Kicking out blindly, he hoped to land a lucky strike but his attacker shoved himself between his knees and spread his legs apart. Realizing he was trapped, Len panicked. He reared up in a desperate attempt to throw off his attacker, bucking and throwing himself wildly about. He was free for a moment then his head was struck by something hard. He knew panic, then pain, then nothing else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. As always I appreciate your comments.
> 
> I've taken small liberties with the setting in this chapter--I'm attributing it to things were different 150 years ago.


	23. The Death of Zelus

“Target is now thirty miles distant,” Gideon announced.

“Adjust altitude to five thousand feet,” Mick ordered before Rip could speak out. The Time Master gave him a sour look, then went back to studying the topographical display with the rest of the team as they hovered over the desk on the bridge. “Cut speed by half and display long range scan in split screen with a topograph” Mick added.

“Wow, this is good,” Ray murmured. “There’s the _Hammer_ near the lake. This is better than I'd hoped for. It's right next to the thermal basin.”

“So we need to land here?” asked Sara, pointing to an area on the other side of a stream where it was flat and bare.

“Pilgrim can’t fly and she ain't going wading,” Mick said.

“This area here,” Ray said eagerly, pointing to another bare spot. “It's just south of the ship and has some features in between that could work for us. We just need to get closer and do a infrared scan before we land to pinpoint exactly where to lure her.”

“Your plan is to overwhelm her with a blitz from above by our flying teammates,” Rip mused.

“She’s shielded from all reasonably fast projectiles and can slow time to avoid other types of attacks. If we come at her from all directions and keep her attention upwards, we have a chance of sneaking in something from below.”

“See anything we can use?” Sara asked Ray.

“It's change some from when I was there but…. Can we do a lower level pass before we land?”

“Sure,” Mick agreed. “I'm driving,” he added, staring at Rip.

“As I expected,” he said like he was granting permission. “Since this monitor is in use, I’ll scan for hostiles in my office. There’s a jump ship next to the _Hammer_ that I assumed the Pilgrim arrived in but there could be others.”

Mick grunted as he settled himself into the pilot’s chair, taking a moment to watch Rip as he sat at his desk and pulled up a surveillance feed of their targets. Mick was surprised that Rip was being so cooperative but he’d take it for now. He swiveled his chair and took control of the ship, dipping the nose to decrease their altitude. They were close enough now that he could see both ships side by side in a small clearing in the woods. Two hunters stood in front of the _Hammer_ , their heads up as they watched them. He swung the _Waverider_ off to the right, setting a course that would take them over the lake in a wide curve. They would circle around and come in low and slow over Ray’s thermal basin, checking for other ships or traps along the way. As they passed, he saw the Pilgrim, tall and in her usual black emerge from the cargo hatch. Zelus walked beside her, putting on his helmet.

“How many?” he shouted out.

“Just those four so far,” Rip answered.

He banked the _Waverider_ around a forested knoll, bringing the ship even lower over a shallow valley, mostly dirt-bare save for the stream that meandered through it. Columns of steam wafted up in at least twenty places and patches of snow lined the cooler areas, becoming thicker by the forest. The sun was low on the horizon and the clouds above were starting to tint gold and red.

“There!” shouted Ray.

Mick swiveled around to see what had gotten him so excited.

“Infrared indicates there’s a hot spring just below the surface here,” he said pointing at a bare patch of earth. “If we can get her to stand here while we attack from above, a couple of shots from a pulse rifle could shatter the crust and drop her down in it.”

“Down in what?” asked Jax.

Stein cleared his throat. “A pit of boiling acidic water,” he said uncomfortably.

“And if we don’t, she’ll kill all of us?”

“Yes.”

Jax pondered it for a few seconds. “Sucks to be her, then,” he said decisively.

“I’ll take the pulse rifle and find a sniper’s position--I think on top of the _Waverider_ will work best,” decided Sara. “And this is where I should aim?” she asked, double checking with Ray.

He pointed to a patch of earth that was whiter than the rest, the infrared imaging indicating a higher temperature there.

“I think that's the Taurus Spring but the crust hasn't been broken yet. Her shields won’t keep out water, right?” asked Ray.

“Nope.”

“Then the boiling temperatures will immediately disable her tech.”

“Mr Rory, where will you be?” asked Stein.

Mick had resumed flying the ship and was rotating it so the bow would be facing their opponents when he landed. “I’ll be in the opening charge, but as you draw out the Pilgrim, I’ll keep going and take out Zelus and anyone else on my way to Snart.”

Rip stepped down out his office, bolstering his revolver as he did. “I'll be coming with you, Mr Rory. My guess is the two other hunters will back up Zelus?”

“The Pilgrim’s a showboat; she won't want anyone interfering with her attack. Zelus will be guarding Snart, using him as bait to draw me in. We take out those two hunters first, yeah. Then leave Zelus for me.”

Rip smiled. “Then we’re agreed for once.”

Mick set the ship down with a small bump and reached for his helmet “That’s it! Gideon, open the hatch! Everyone out!”

"Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war," Rip murmured, joining the crew as they raced out to do battle to the death.

***

Mick ran quickly towards the _Hammer_ , keeping to the areas that had tufts of grass, areas that Ray explained would be safer. Rip kept pace slightly behind him while Ray and Firestorm flew straight for the Pilgrim. She advanced on the flyers, peppering them with shots from her hand gun. Each time they were hit, they'd fall back some, drawing her out further. While their armor could take a number of hits, Kendra was more vulnerable to attack and she made quick forays out to shoot harassing shots from the cold gun at the Pilgrim before retreating safely back behind her teammates.

The two hunters had followed the Pilgrim out of the trees, also firing on Ray and Firestorm. When he’d passed the Pilgrim, Mick starting shooting with a handgun but only at the hunters, drawing their focus back to him. A running battle ensued, with him and Rip splitting up, flanking their foes as they dove into the trees. It didn't take long to dispatch them both as their fighting tactics were more along the line of ‘stand there and fire upon your unarmed opponents,’ which Mick and Rip definitely weren't.

Suddenly, bark splintered explosively from trees on either side of him. “Chronos! You came for your pet,” yelled Zelus, standing not far from the _Hammer_ at the clearing edge, a gun in each hand.

Mick ducked behind one of the skinny-assed trees. “Freak,” he shouted back. “It's past time I took the garbage out.” He fired a shot that hit a tree immediately in front of Zelus and he growled in frustration at the miss. He was at a disadvantage here. He fired a few quick shots as he ran to a trio of trees that were closer and would give better cover.

“Your thief enjoyed the K6 I gave him. I sliced off a few of the scars you’d given him for souvenirs and he begged me to take the rest, to be free of your brands,” he said. “So I did. Then I took his fingers, too, and he laughed as I cut them off. You’ll need a bag to collect what’s left of him.”

Even though he knew Zelus was lying, knew that there were only two small burn scars Len carried because of Mick, he couldn’t be sure what Len would’ve told someone who was torturing him, especially when dosed with K6. But the thought that that bastard had cut off even one of Leonard’s fingers filled Mick with a rage so towering, his vision whited out until all he could see was Zelus at the end of a tunnel. In some small part of his brain he knew he was being goaded but he didn’t care. He roared out his fury and his fear and he ran at that fucker, his gun firing in rapid succession.

Zelus fired back, hitting Mick twice. His armor absorbed much of the energy but still his left arm went numb--if it was even still there. It didn't slow him though and still screaming and firing, he crashed through saplings on his way straight to the hunter.

Zelus turned and ran. He fled back to the ship, knowing he couldn’t withstand a berserker attack. It didn’t matter. Mick barreled into him, his momentum sending them both flying through the air. They landed hard and Zelus twisted free as he kick Mick savagely in the shoulder. He swung his gun around but Mick swatted it away and lurched after the hunter as he scrambled frantically to the ship’s hatch. Mick grabbed a foot and yanked him back hard as Zelus’ other foot kick out wildly.. The hunter rolled onto his back and Mick watched horrified as he plucked an incendiary bomb from his tactical vest and lobbed it into the ship.

The explosion knocked them through the air. Stunned, Mick wobbled up onto his hands and knees and numbly watched flames shoot out of the ship like a flame thrower.

Zelus lay on the ground, shrill, hysterical laughter bubbling from his throat. “Your pet is cooking, Chronos. Isn’t that how you like them? I can hear his sweet screams.”

He kept babbling as Mick pushed himself to his feet and staggered towards the flames. He heard nothing but a dull roar that grew louder and louder. “No,” he whispered. Finally the heat became too much and he stopped, unable to move either forwards or backwards. For once the flames didn't mesmerize him, because what he wanted was more important and behind them.

The rational part of his brain estimated the temperatures inside the ship and he knew all the available oxygen was being consumed by the greedy flames. If Len was in there, he was dead by now.

Filled with nothing but hate and the need for vengeance, he turned and walked back to Zelus, kneeling down beside him. He slide his heat gun from its holster and shove the tip against Zelus’ belly, making sure it was under his tactical vest. “I should've done this the first time I knew what sort of monster you are.” He waited until he saw the realization in Zelus’ eyes, waited until he heard the panicked voice.

“No, no, no! Wait! Wait--”

Mick pulled the trigger and his world exploded in blood and flames. What wasn't vaporized was splattered everywhere in shredded pieces, landing even on Mick’s armor. He looked down at what was left; the hips and legs were intact with just a few inches of blackened spine protruding from them.

He stared for a few moments, realizing that that wasn’t enough, that maybe nothing would be enough to stop the crushing ache in his chest. He stood up and walked the few steps towards the ship before he stopped, poised on the brink. A few more steps and his pain would stop. He would never again need to watch as another person he cared for burn in the flames that only he desired. His family and now Len. There was no one else he gave a shit for...except for Lisa. His stomach twisted in shame at how he’d threatened her. If her brother was dead, he owed it to her to tell her. Len would want her to know.

When the flames had died down, he would go in there and confirm it. He needed to see for himself that Leonard Snart was dead.

***

Some time later, he heard voices approaching, chattering excitedly about killing the Pilgrim.

“So, we’re just going to leave her in there?”

“To dangerous to fish her out and anyway she’ll be completely dissolved in a few days.”

“Mick! Wow! You set it on fire?”

“Oh hell! Is that? I did not need to see that!”

“That makes four.  Is that all of them?”

“Mick, where’s Snart?”

Suddenly it was very quiet, and Sara repeated, “Mick? Mick! Snart? Where is he?”

“Dear god,” Stein whispered. “He wasn't still in the sh--”

“Wasn’t me,” Mick croaked.

“What?”

He cleared his throat, but the crushing tightness wouldn’t move. He couldn’t understand how he could still breathe around it. “I didn’t...I couldn't stop him from throwing…”

The quiet stretched out painfully as their loss set in.

“Where's Rip? I don’t see him, either.”

“Not here,” was all that Mick could muster.

Kendra moved into his line of sight, her expression profoundly sad. “Mick, would this help?” she asked holding out the cold gun. “Maybe it would put out the fire?”

“Not now,” Stein said gently. “To subject the metal in the ship to the opposite in temperature extremes could have catastrophic consequences. Best to wait until the accelerant is exhausted. It will be safer then.”

“Jax, want to come with me to check out the other time ship?” Raymond asked, subdued.

“Sure, man.”

The pair of them left while the rest of them waited, solemn with the beginnings of grief. The sun set and the clouds above them faded from vibrant, angry reds to gentle pastels. The dusk settled in and the air developed a nip as the flames flickered weakly as they consumed the last of the remaining accelerant. The metal in the ship popped and groaned as the intense heat dissipated.

Ray returned from the second ship, softly telling the others that it was empty while Jax wandered restlessly around the back.

The flames were nearly gone when Jax called out excitedly, running around the _Hammer_ , “Hey everyone! The other hatch was open and there’s a set of bloody footprints leading away from the ship. Maybe it's Snart! Maybe he escaped!”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love spoilers. I love them so much I even put them in the chapter titles.
> 
> Edited 7/22: I just checked and the rest of my comments didn't get posted!
> 
> I wanted to thank everyone for their continued support and say I do appreciate your comments--they do lend support.
> 
> From here on out, Rip being up to no good is more front and centered. For most of the time in the first season, Rip had some really unpleasant characteristics; this story extrapolates from that. I did end up liking Rip--mostly-- by the end of the first season but this story was started before that, when he seemed comfortable in using people even if they ended up hurt or dead. Rip fans unhappy with this line of plot may wish to bow out now.


	24. What Was Lost Is Now Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In honor of Coldwave week, I'm posting the new chapter on hurt/comfort day. Truthfully, the next few chapters will be h/c heavy, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days ago, I posted "A New Day," a story that started out as a flashback imbedded in this story but I realized that it would hurt the pacing. So, I recommend that you read that first as it will add depth to a part in this one.

“Here!” Jax called out, waving them closer. “It's hard to see now but his tracks go through this patch of snow.”

Mick knelt down to get a better look at the dim smudges. He activated a light on his arm guard at the same time Ray did the same on his suit. The pain in his chest loosened a notch when his anxious eyes were only able to spot a few drops of blood scattered about the prints--one barefooted, one booted. It had to be Snart. The tracks made a beeline to the trees. “This way,” he said, standing up.

Unfortunately, night was falling quickly now and the trees and forest floor were merging into one indistinct dark wall. The patches of snow that would capture footprints were too rare to be helpful. They walked for another twenty feet before Mick stopped, uncertain of the trail, the beam of light on his suit too narrow to be very helpful. When on the run, Snart was fond of changing directions as often as a crazed squirrel; he would have switched directions by now.

“It will be impossible to follow Mr. Snart's trail in the darkness,” Stein exclaimed.

“Rip? Have you been hearing this?” Ray asked.

“Yes, Mr. Palmer. What do you need?” Rip answered in their ear buds.

“Six high-powered flashlights. I’ll fly over and pick them up.”

As he leaped upwards and flew off, Mick asked, puzzled, “Where’s Rip?” He felt like he was missing something.

“Back at the _Waverider_ ,” Jax explained. “I guess he went there after all the fighting was done. He called us and wanted the status of the other time ship so me and Ray investigated.”

Sara had walked a few paces to the left but then stopped and crouched down. “Mick, shine your light over here,” she said, staring into the dirt.

When he did, the beam picked up a small splash of red on a fragment of bleached wood. Snart had taken a hard left then. He walked slowly past her, swinging his light back and forth as the others followed behind him. Suddenly, the trees stooped and he felt a sense of openness. Lifting the beam, he saw they were standing at the edge of a drop off of maybe a dozen feet and the valley he’d flown low over stretched before him. He carefully leaned over the edge and flicked his beam downward.

“It looks like he might have fallen here,” Kendra said. There was the soft rustle of feathers and a few seconds later, she was standing below them having used her wings to coast gently to the base. “Yes,” she said excitedly. “I see a handprint here in the loose dirt!”

Ray flew up and landed beside them. “Here are the flashlights,” he said, handing them out. “I was scanning for him on the way back using infrared but there’s a lot of interference from the thermal features. I think we're going to have to split up.”

“Snart!” Mick yelled. “Snart! Where are you?”

“Oh, no! Ray, is this what I think it is?” Kendra called out. She was standing next to a hot spring that was boiling vigorously.

Ray flew down next to her and picked up a strip of leather. “That’s Snart’s belt,” he said, shocked. “I saw him wearing it this morning.” He glanced uneasily towards the pool.

Mick jumped, sliding down the crumbling slope feet first and using his arm as a rudder to stay upright. He hit the ground and half ran to Ray, grabbing the belt from him. It was Snart’s. “Shit.” Filled with dread, he pointed his light into the pool, frantically searching the depths for something he did not want to find.

“Oh, man. Don’t tell me Snart--”

“He’s not here,” Mick harshly cut off Jax, his relief sending a wave of weakness through him.

“We’ll split up,” Sara called out decisively. “Jax and I will search up here. Stein, go back to the _Waverider_ in case Snart returns. Mick, you’ve got the valley. Kendra, can you check out the forest on the other side?”

“Of course.”

“I’ll go up again and do a more thorough search using infrared,” volunteered Ray.

“What can I do?” Rip asked through their communicators.

After a brief pause, Sara said, “Take up the jump ship and search the lake and lake shore.”

“Will do.”

Everyone disappeared in different directions, their beams of light bouncing erratically as they walked away, their voices calling out for Snart as they searched.

Mick glanced downstream at where the _Waverider_ was lit up, a familiar beacon surrounded by darkness. Obviously Snart hadn’t gone to the ship or he’d been there by now. Mick’d never experienced K6 before but he’d heard it left people paranoid and disoriented among other things. Snart was already paranoid--for good reason--and Mick frowned at the thought of a _hyper_ paranoid Snart. He was always a tricky bastard and this was gonna make him even worse. Mick needed to search away from the ship and pay particular attention to any sort of hiding places, no matter how small. Hiding was something that Snart was brilliant at.

Mick heaved a heavy sigh, watching as his warm breath turned into a large, white cloud before it disappeared instantly in the frosty air. Even through his armor the night air felt like it was already below freezing. Snart may be the king of cold puns but he’d freeze to death as quick as anyone else in these conditions. They had to find him soon.

Mick turned turned upstream and focused his eyes on the hard, pale soil, searching for more blood or footprints. It was full night now and he slipped his helmet on to access its infrared and magnification.

It was going to be a long, cold night.

***

Ten minutes later, Mick had only covered a hundred feet because he kept stopping to watch as Ray buzzed from hot pool to hot pool like some futuristic bee. He knew he was checking that Snart hadn't fallen into one, but Mick couldn't prevent himself from stilling completely, waiting breathlessly with jaw clenched until Ray flew off to the next one. Mick could feel his tension mounting with each visit, irrationally likening it to Russian roulette in that the brief relief of each empty pool only increased the anxiety that Snart would be found in the next one.

It was a great release when Ray finally flew back and landed beside him. “He’s not out there,” he said, stating the obvious.

Mick fought the desire to curl his hands into fists. Haircut was a nerd and he meant no harm but Mick did understand why Len found him so annoying. He grunted an acknowledgment.

“Are you following his tracks?” he persisted. “Do you think he’d run away from us?”

Mick lowered his head and shoved down the anger and worry that would only interfere with their rescue efforts. That was the one good thing he’d learned as Chronos--how to control his anger. When he looked back up, he calmly said, “Yeah. He’s sticking to the cliff side, probably looking for a way back to some cover. You need to check under things. He might be hiding; he was given a drug that will make him paranoid.”

Ray leaned away, raising his eyebrows. “That, that doesn’t sound good at all,” he said, alarmed.

“Watch your back, Haircut. He’s more dangerous than you know.”

“He’s already pretty scary,” he half joked, but the smile dropped off his face when Mick stared silently at him. “Right. Well, I'll just fly on ahead. Thanks for the advice.” And with that he was gone.

Twenty minutes later, Mick froze as excited voices came over his earbud.

“I think I’ve found him! Snart! Come on out! It's just me, Ray. It’s safe. You're safe,” he added, his tone changing from excited to lower and soothing. “Oh. Okay,” he said uncertainly. “Let’s wait, okay? We can wait.”

“Where are you?!” Mick demanded.

“Oh. Here,” he said as a beam of light suddenly illuminated the upper boughs of a group of trees to Mick’s right. He spotted a break in the cliff side where erosion made a passable opportunity to scramble back into the forest. He was almost to the top when he heard Jax.

“Where is he?”

“Under this fallen tree. He...doesn't like me so much. Maybe he’ll come out for you.”

“Hey, man. Let me help you out of there.”

Mick pulled himself up the last few feet and shoved off his hands into a jog. “Don’t--”

“Ow! What the hell?!” Jax yelped in pain.

“Let go!” Ray gritted, sounding like he was struggling.

“Back off!” Mick ordered. “Leave him be!”

“He bit me!” Jax exclaimed, stunned.

Mick picked up his speed, branches whipping around him as he powered through anything that wasn’t bigger than him. He burst around a small knoll to see Ray standing shoulder to shoulder with Jax, examining the younger man’s hand. Behind them a large tree had fallen and lay flat across the ground except where the root ball had created a small gap. A foot, bare, bloodied and white from the cold, was just visible sticking out from the small, dark space.

“Leave,” Mick growled. “Keep the others away.”

He waited until they withdrew, then sat down near the foot, taking off his helmet. Len had been a biter when they first met. As a short, skinny kid fighting for his life when everyone else was bigger and stronger, he’d fought dirty with the fury of the truly desperate. If he’d bitten Jax, a kid he actually liked, it meant he was mentally in a bad place.

“Len,” he said, his voice low and calm. “It's me, Mick. It's safe to come out now.” He gave him a few moments but was met with no response. He leaned over until he could see inside, using his weaker suit light to shine off of the side of the little makeshift cave, lighting the man inside with soft, indirect light.

Len stared back at him, his face half in shadow. His eyes were pinpoint, his lips tight with anger or maybe fear. There was no recognition in the pale face that was smeared with blood and dirt, the sweat beading unnaturally on his brow in the freezing temperature.

Mick sat back up. Snart hadn’t had any panic attacks or flashbacks in years and besides, this didn’t look like either of them. Must be the drug. He switched on the powerful flashlight and wedged it into the ground so it illuminated himself and the forest behind him.

Pulling him out would only spark a fight; he’d have to wait for him to emerge on his own. Snart, whether he was high, hurt or normal, would not be making a move until he had all the angles covered. The problem was they needed to get him into the warmth and treat his injuries. Mick had to get through to him quickly, had to find the words to get him to come out of there even if he was confused and frightened. Maybe if he kept talking, he’d hit on something.

He turned his head away and said softly, “I'm going silent. No one comes near until I say so.” He didn't wait for an answer as reached up and used his thumb nail to switch off his communication bud. He turned back towards Len and looked directly at where he knew his partner was.

“Len? Len. I’m here to take you home.” He pitched his voice low and deep, the tone he knew Len liked, the tone that always could get Len to pause and turn towards him. “You're safe now, buddy. We snuffed the Time Bastard hunters, all of them. We’ve been searching for you. You gotta be getting cold.” He paused, hoping that the soft lob of a pun set up would entice a response but there was silence.

Mick sighed. He was gonna have to play dirty. “We’ve been searching for you for a while and everyone is pretty cold. Lisa needs to get home. She won’t wear her coat.”

“Lisa. Lisa’s here?” Len asked, confused.

Mick leaned forward. “Yeah, she’s back on the ship.” From this angle, he could seen Len struggling with this information. He was listening to him at least. “Lenny, you trust me, right?”

The paused stretched out and finally he said, “Mick,” softly, plaintively. “Mick? I, yes--”

“It will be okay but you need to come to me.” When there was no response after a few moments, he pitched his voice louder, firmer. “Leonard. You can't stay here. It's time to leave. Leonard? Come out, now, so we can get you fixed up and warm. Come here now,” he said, his voice firm with authority.

A few moments later the foot moved, changing its angle as Len push against the dirt and crawled slowly, painfully forward. Mick quietly rose up and stepped closer.

“No,” Len gasped. “Don’t touch me.” His breathing had become shallow and fast. “Lewis, he….” He stopped, frowning. “Lewis isn't here, is he?” he asked, confused.

“No, he’s not. You killed the bastard last year.”

“Right,” he said, without moving.

Maybe he couldn’t move any further without help. Len didn’t like anyone touching him except for Lisa and Mick, and Mick had been accepted as safe a few years after they’d met. He could be wrong but it didn't sound like this was a trust issue. “Okay, but you gotta stand up. How about if you use my arm?” He knelt down and rested his forearm across his knee and waited.

Len stared at it for a few moments then closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them back up, his expression had tightened with resolve. His left hand shot out and gripped Mick’s arm above his arm guards with bruising strength. As he pushed himself to his feet, Mick heard a low moan that spoke of agony and he felt Len trembling with effort. Finally, he was up on his feet, but was still bent at the waist, his breath coming in gasps.

Mick waited for a minute or two until the worst seemed over. “Let me know when you're ready.”

Len took a deeper breath. “Can you--”

“Yeah, sure,” he said and gracefully stood up without changing the position of his arm. Len gripped him harder still and Mick slowly, carefully brought his arm up, causing Len to straightened as his support moved up. Suddenly, they were both upright and Len glanced over with recognition in his eyes. The pain must have helped to clear his mind.

“Is it far?” Len asked, trying to hide his despair at the thought of how far he might need to walk.

Mick turned his ear bud back on as he asked, “If you can walk a hundred feet, we can have the jump ship land close by to take us the rest of the way. Or we can get a stretcher and some good drugs. Your choice.”

Len didn’t need to think about it. “I can make that,” he said with determination. “Let’s go.”

They walked slowly back the way Mick had come with Len leaning heavily on Mick’s arm for support as he was carefully led around rocks, downed wood and low hanging branches.

“Haircut, can you go back and pick up my helmet and flashlight?”

“Sure,” Ray said, always eager to help.

When they approached the cliff edge, Mick was relieved to see the jump ship in place on a narrow ledge and Ray was standing nearby using the flashlights to illuminate their path. “Almost there,” Ray said reassuringly.

Len couldn't spend the energy for a reply but he sent Ray a withering look. At least it kept him from saying anything else.

When they got inside the ship, Len glanced around anxiously. “Mick, I don’t think I can sit down.”

Mick smiled. “Hey, you worried about not wearing a seatbelt?”

He could see Len was trying to smile though his lips were tight with pain. “Safety first. No cutting corners,” he said, with a hint of the usual admonishment he used when he lectured Mick on safety.

Mick stepped past him and sat in a chair, quickly buckling in. “Come here,” he said, curling his fingers in the universal sign to come closer. When Len was standing in front of him, he instructed, “Hands on my shoulders.” He held his hands out at mid thigh level. “Can I hold you here to steady you?”

Len’s eyes stared into the distance as he considered the request. “Lower. Just above my knees.”

Mick carefully curled his fingers where he was told and was dismayed by the nonstop tremors. He glanced up at Len and frown, wondering at the cost Len had just paid to maintain his pride and dignity when Mick should have just requested a stretcher and meds to knock him out. But even as he thought that, he knew he respected the man too much to do that to him. He was so damn grateful to have Len safe in front of him.

“All set?” Rip asked.

“Yeah,” Mick said, glancing over at the pilot’s seat. Just as Rip swiveled his chair forward, Mick briefly saw a smirk on his face. He didn't have time to do more than register surprise before the ship’s hatch was secured and the ship gave a slight lurch as it took to the air.

“I gotcha,” he murmured, staring back up into Len’s eyes. His partner was trashed. His face was smeared with dirt and blood, and now that the light was better, Mick could see jizz crusted in his hair. Now that he noticed it, he could pick out the musky scent of sex through the more powerful coppery odor of blood. He felt his face heat as anger surged up through him, his fury returning with the proof that even though Len was safely in his grasp, terrible things had been done to him.

“I killed that fucker,” he said, his face twisted with hatred.

Len seemed to absorb Mick’s intensity and draw power from it. He steadied in Mick’s grip and the tremors lessened. “Good,” he said, his eyes glinting with savagery.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days after I posted the last chapter, I realized all of my end notes didn't make it into the post. Readers concerned about Rip's characterization should go read that.
> 
> Your comments are deeply appreciated and bring joy and insight.


	25. Back to the Med Bay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If people have triggers, you might want to peek at the end notes.

Len was hot. So _very_ hot.

And he _hurt_. _So much_ of him hurt.

He lay there for some time, shifting his face slightly to push further into the snow, grateful that it gave him a small measure of relief from the unbearable heat and his pounding headache.

Later, he opened his eyes and wondered why it was dark. He blinked slowly and pushed off the ground to roll onto his back but abandoned that plan as soon as he tightened the muscles of his back.

His back was…. It was the source of _so much pain._

When the ground stopped spinning, he blinked again and realized he could see something. Pale blobs. He clenched his fists and felt the coarseness of snow being crushed in his hands. Closing his mouth, he slowed his panting down and he suddenly smelled Christmas, fresh and green. He liked Christmas.

He should move.

He ended up crawling forward through snow, then dirt, all the while little things poked at him. He was wearing something that had started out bunched around his shoulders but was pulled down as he pushed himself forward until his knees were protected from the pokey things.

He turned a little towards his left when he spotted a bed to crawl under. Yes. That was better. There were borders all around him and he relaxed into the darkness, counting his heartbeat by the throbbing in his head.

But he was so hot and he hurt _so much._

***

Voices. He heard voices and tried to focus. Bright lights blinded him while someone spoke of safety and a hand tried to pull him out. Liars! He was already safe! He grabbed the hand and bit it. That worked; the lights went away and voices retreated.

Someone was still outside. Suddenly, a bright light illuminated a football player sitting in front of him, but Len was still safe under the bleachers. He was content to stay in the darkness until he heard _Lisa_ , a word of such immense importance that it lay like polished gleaming gold amongst a pile of dirty potatoes.

“Lisa? Lisa’s here?” He should try to find her. He heard his name again and he blinked, looking closer. When did Mick start playing football? Did he trust Mick? Why would Mick even need to ask that?

“Mick. Mick? I, yes--“. Mick needed him. Mick wanted him to go to him. Mick would help him, help him find Lisa. He pushed himself forward until he was on his hands and knees, fighting through the pain. If he could get to Mick he would be safe. Sweat dripped into his eyes but he didn’t dare spare the effort to swipe at them.

Mick reached out a helping hand.

Len panicked. He couldn’t stand the thought of more pain. “No! Don’t touch me.” Beside, Mick would need his hands free to protect himself against Lewis. Lewis was just here, reaching under the bed to yank him out...but wasn’t Len at home? When had he come here? Could Lewis have followed him?

He was _so hot_ and he hurt _so much._

“Lewis, he…. Lewis isn't here, is he?” he asked, confused. His headache was making it so hard to think.

“No, he’s not. You killed the bastard last year.”

A memory flash in front of him. Lewis, malignant and threatening with his hand around Lisa’s heart, squeezing the life out of her. Desperate, Len had sent his hatred, cold and sharp, straight into Lewis’ chest and time stopped at Lewis’ expression of surprise.

“Right,” he said, without moving. Lewis could be killed? Had he killed him? He had never dared to allow himself to even think of it because if Lewis found out—if he saw that thought on Leonard’s face like he could sometimes see his other thoughts—he would kill Lisa then Leonard.

“Okay, but you gotta stand up. How about if you use my arm?”

Len blinked and turned his head slightly to stare at the forearm that rested across a knee. That could work. His hand didn’t hurt after all. He closed his eyes and gathered his resolve. Mick needed him. Lisa needed him. What did pain matter when Mick and Lisa needed him? And maybe if he stood up he wouldn’t be so hot.

He reached out a shaky hand and quickly grabbed for support. He didn’t pause but just _pushed_ , focusing on straightening his knees through the white hot haze of pain that burned everything away except his will. Even still, he hadn’t been able to straighten up. He stayed frozen, panting through the pain, with his pitiful goal beyond his reach. He needed Mick’s help, but that was okay. Mick was his partner. Help from Mick was like the right foot getting help from the left foot to walk—which is to say not help at all, just a partnership.

Len took a deeper breath when he felt desperate enough to want to try for a better position. “Can you--”

  
He didn’t even have to finish the thought. Len held tight and let Mick do all the heavy lifting. Suddenly Len was upright and the pain in his back diminished a degree. He glanced at Mick and felt better. They were together and only a fool would mess with them when they were together. Sweat trickled down his back. Why was he so _hot?_

“Is it far?” God, he hoped it wasn’t far. But Mick was talking again, this time about drugs and a stretcher. Len shook his head, then regretted it as his headache spiked. He didn’t want an ambulance. Instead, he kept hold of Mick and let the big man guide him through the park. When they got to the van, some other football player or maybe it was the team mascot, was offering encouragement that he was almost there. _“What an idiot,”_ Len thought as he stepped into the van and squinting his eyes as the bright light made his head hurt worse.

He stared with dismay at the seats and knew if he sat down, he wouldn’t be able to stand up again. And the heat inside the van was unbearable, and his back was slick with sweat.

  
“Mick, I don’t think I can sit down,” he confided, his fingers itching to unbutton his shirt. His ears perked up when Mick said the word seatbelt, and he felt sad at Mick’s good natured smile. Maybe he hadn’t told Mick about that accident when he was fifteen. Lewis had recruited a couple of other teenagers to do a smash and grab at an arcade. The getaway driver was barely sixteen and the car fishtailed around the first corner at high speed. Len had just finished frantically buckling his seatbelt when Stan swerved around a bus at high speed, lost control of the car and hit an oak tree sideways. When Len opened his eyes, he was looking up at the sky. Fingers shaking, he unlocked the seatbelt and fell out of the car. The door was gone and so was the ceiling. A terrible moaning begged for attention, inarticulate and filled with such pain. He pulled himself up and staggered towards the hood of the car. Rob lay halfway through the windshield; his arm gone and his guts slithering out of him and down the fender. The noise was coming from Stan, though. The driver had hit the windshield frame with his head and his jaw was missing. Blood bubbled over his tongue with each agonizing moan.

He probably hadn’t told Mick about the accident. If he had, Mick wouldn’t think it was humorous. He let it go though and just repeated what he always said when Lisa or Mick mocked his need for safety. They didn’t need those images in their head. Len wished he’d didn’t have them either.

Instead, he braced himself between Mick’s knees, leaning some of his weight onto Mick’s broad shoulders. He felt bad that the sweat was running down his legs; Mick could probably feel it where he steadied him by cradling the back of his knees. Oh well. Mick didn’t mind sweat. He probably understood, what with it being so hot in here.

Held and supported by Mick, he started to relax a little. That was a mistake for he felt his exhaustion ratcheting up in response, felt his shaking grow. He felt shame that he couldn’t stop it.

Mick seemed to notice and his features twisted with rage. “I killed that fucker.” He said it like he was fulfilling a promise, like it had given him such joy to do it and maybe it had. Mick never did anything halfway.

Len was transfixed; he could lose himself in those rage-filled eyes. Mick was a force of nature and he was his. If Mick thought someone needed killing, they no doubt needed killing. “Good,” he said, feeling energy flow into him. Mick’s emotions were too intense to be kept inside and Len felt himself ride upon their crest. They were partners after all. Purpose and conviction; they were better than drugs for getting things done.

The van swayed through the traffic but was Len was surprised when its movements stopped after not even two minutes.

“We’ve arrived,” the driver called out.

Mick removed his hands and gave them a double take.

Len fumbled at his buttons. “Mick, it’s too hot. I need to get this shirt off.” He pulled at the lapel, shoving his shoulder free.

“Hey, hey,” Mick soothed, standing up and trying to pulled the shirt back up. His gaze locked onto a spot on Len’s neck as Len captured Mick’s wrists.

“Mick, your hands,” Len said sadly. “You’ve hurt your hands.” The palms and fingers glistened with fresh blood.

It was then, with his head down that he smelled himself. He reeked of sex. He followed Mick’s eyes and felt an ache on the side of his neck; that had to be a bite. Turning his attention even more inward, he ignored the heat, ignored the pain that was his back now and felt a different ache, a very specific combination of sensations. He closed his eyes for a long moment, then threading his hand behind Mick’s neck, pulled them together until his lips rested next to his partner’s ear.

“Mick. Mick, someone has messed with me.” He tightened his fingers. “Do you know who?” Len had rules about men that messed with him and that was they wouldn’t live long enough to ever mess with anyone else.

“I’m not sure.”

“Help me find out. Help me kill the bastard.”

Mick leaned back until he could make eye contact. “You know I will. No one touches you. No one.”

The corner of Len’s lips twitched upwards. “No one but you.”

***

Mick felt the floor fall away beneath him. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that Zelus had raped Len among all the other violations he had put Len through, but he’d hoped to save him from that. Len had a very specific way of dealing with rape: he’d kill the rapist then never think of it again. Len could compartmentalize like nobody else—it was the glue that kept him together and functional. Besides, it hadn’t been a issue for decades.

He forced a smile back at Len’s little crooked grin. He used to think that smile was devilish and cute, but then he saw Len smile that way while his jaw was swollen and bruised from one of Lewis’ drunken rages. He realized that was the least painful way of smiling when Len’s mouth hurt—a smile that was made by the least amount of muscles. He still thought that devilish grin was cute, but it also reminded him what a badass Len was. He could find a way around any obstacle.

He rebuttoned Len’s duster and guided him backwards by steering him by holding his elbows, elbows that felt so cold through the cloth. “Let’s get you to the med bay and fixed up, eh?” He walked slowly beside Len, letting him change his grip until Len was leaning on his bent arm again. When they got to where the corridor divided, Len tried to go straight but Mick gently pull him toward the left. Surely Len didn’t think Mick would let him make a beeline to the crew quarters?

Len stopped suddenly at the entrance to the med bay. “A dentist?” he murmured, puzzled.

That sealed the deal on Mick’s hunch that Len was suffering from memory loss. It was obvious he had hypothermia and was experiencing hallucinations—Mick had made it a point to learn the symptoms of hypothermia once Len started carrying the cold gun—and while confusion was a symptom, amnesia wasn’t. Mick had his suspicions that the large, blood crusted lump above Len’s right ear was responsible for that.

“Nah, it’s a high tech medical scanner. Got a AI doctor, too.”

Len leaned backwards. “I….”

“You’ve been treated here before. Me, too. It’s okay. You’ll feel better in no time.”

“Can I get a real doctor?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure. Let’s just get started with the scanner, okay? Just some lights.” He guided him forward and helped him to hold his left hand out towards the bed. The data cuff curled around Len’s wrist and the wall panels lite up with all sorts of graphs and numbers.

“Mr. Snart’s core temperature is 94 degrees. It’s vital we begin warming procedures immediately,” Gideon said, her tone eager and concerned.

“No, no, no,” Len said, trying to turn around. “It’s too hot now. I can’t bear it if you make it hotter.” He shoved Mick away and yanked his arm hard enough to cause the cuff to release. He staggered for the doorway.

“Gideon, shut the door and keep it closed. Len, Len! Let me help you.” He ran in front of him and held his arms out, trying to herd him back towards the bed.

Len pulled at the duster, falling to his knees with a gasp when he pulled it off his back.

Mick stared shocked at the scope of the damage, unable to breathe. There were very few spots that weren’t flayed and dripping blood. The lash strokes covered all the way down to his buttocks and upper thighs. “Lenny, Lenny, let me help you!”

“No, no!” Just leave me be!” he moaned, falling forward until he was on his hands and knees. He crawled towards the bed and wedged himself beneath it.

“Gideon, I’m gonna take that cuff and put it around Len’s wrist. I need you to knock him out as soon as I do. Got it?” he ordered.

“Yes, Mr. Rory. It is vital that treatment for Mr. Snart is started immediately.”

Mick crouched down beside Len, his jaw tense. This was going to get ugly. He pulled at the cuff until it was extended as far as it would go. It fell short by more than a foot. Hardening his heart, he grabbed Len’s wrist and forced the arm until it was extended straight, backwards and up to meet the cuff.

“No, no, no! I’m sorry! Dad, please don’t!” he begged.

Mick held the cuff to Len’s wrist and Gideon did the rest. Len’s cries quickly became slurred, then stopped, his body going limp.

“Mr. Rory, should I call for one of the others to assist you in lifting Mr. Snart?”

“Nah. Lay the bed flat. His back is a mess but there could be other stuff wrong with him. Head injury, hypothermia…” he said, pulling Len out by tugging on legs so cold as to not even feel like flesh. He sighed, glad that Len was unconscious at the moment. He threaded his hand under Len’s armpits and heaved him up until he could drape him over the bed. Cradling his thighs, he lifted and turned him until he had him prone on the bed.

Standing back, he started to take off his armour, watching the medical read out carefully. “Gideon, scan for drugs and evidence of sexual assault.”

By the time he had his gear piled in the corner, the regeneration beam was busy on Len’s back.

“Mr. Rory, the tissue regeneration process re-creates healthy tissue. I will not be able to re-create Mr. Snart’s skin modifications.”

Mick grunted. “You mean you’re taking away his scars.”

“That is correct.”

“They gave him a lot of pain. Maybe he won’t care like I did when the Time Bastards removed mine.”

He stared at Len’s relaxed face, his fingers twitching with the need to clean away the mud, the blood and the cum. “Can I clean his face?”

“Unadvisable. Mr. Snart is being treated for a concussion and a small subdural hematoma. His head needs to remain stationary.”

“What drugs were given to him?”

“Only one: K6. It has a number of unpleasant side effects. Mr. Snart should be carefully monitored over the next few days.”

A wall panel opened up. “You were correct in your assumption that Mr. Snart has been sexually assaulted. Please remove the PSAERT probe from the receptacle.

Mick walked over and picked up the package. Inside were two flat wipes of some kind along with a wand in a resealable plastic wrapper. Half of the probe was a handle and the other half of what looked like a white, ceramic ring sizer about five inches long. “What’s it do?”

“It is a Penetrative Sexual Assault Evidence Removal and Treatment device. Once activated and inserted, careful documentation of the area is obtained, tissue samples including semen are collected, then a comprehensive cleaning and repair is completed. The probe is then replaced in the protective wrapper, returned to the receptacle where I will process the samples. All information gathered is legally admissible in a court of law for prosecution of the perpetrators.”

Mick scowled at the assumption there were more than one attacker. There would be no court of law anyway. Hunters were immune from prosecution for any crimes committed while on duty and they were always on duty until they died.

But the rest of it sounded good. “How does this work?”

“Remove the white wipe from it’s envelope and carefully gather any evidence on the skin around the assault site. Refold the wipe, return it to its envelope and reseal it. Next, use the green wipe to cleanse the area so no foreign matter is introduced when the PSAERT is inserted.”

Mick grunted in acknowledgement. Seemed simple enough, but he forgot about the anger that surged through him when he parted Len’s butt cheeks and saw the smears of blood and cum. He wiped it all away and sealed it before he picked up the green one. “Is there any medicine in this one?”

“An antiseptic along with a numbing agent.”

“Good,” he muttered as he carefully dabbed Len’s reddened and swollen entrance. He tossed it away and picked up the probe by the handle. “Shouldn’t there be lube to go with this?”

“Once you activate it by pressing the switch on its base, it will self lubricate. Insert it to the hilt and depress the button again. Leave it in place until the light turns off. Return the probe into its plastic envelope.”

“Right.” He turned it on and watched attentively as the smooth, white surface started to glisten with moisture. He used his left hand to spread Len’s cheeks but hesitated as he brought the probe against Len’s abused hole.  
  
“Care must be used when inserting the device at the proper angle—“

“I got this, Gideon. Believe me, I know exactly what angle to use. I’ve had decades of shoving stuff up his ass.”

“I believe that falls under TMI, Mr. Rory.”

“Yeah, well, don’t try to tell an expert how to do his job.” He slid the device smoothly into place and he pressed the button again. The handle glowed silently with a soft white light. “Looks like it’s working. How long does this take?”

“Depends on the amount of damage that needs to be repaired. Ten to thirty minutes usually.”

Mick stepped back and sighed. Len was a fucking mess. He hadn’t been laid up from this much shit for decades, if ever—and Mick held some responsibility for it. Len had been targeted because of Chronos. Mick should have been quicker to remember and kept Len from stepping a foot into Salvation—hell, he should have insisted the _Waverider_ avoid that town altogether. After Mick had beaten Len bloody, after he had demanded a return to their sexual relationship as a way to weld close the cracks in their partnership. Mick had promised Len he’d protect him like he always had.

Well, Mick’s protection wasn’t worth shit.

Time to up his game.

He would keep Len safe. He would stand between Len and all threats from the Time Masters. And he would make sure Rip Hunter kept his skeevy hands to himself.

“Gideon! I’ve got some DNA for you to compare against the evidence you’re gathering from Snart.” He walked over and nudged his armor with his boot until he found a section that was well splatter with blood and some chunky bits. “Label this sample, ‘Zelus.’ And get Haircut on the horn for me. I need him to collect some DNA from the bodies of the hunters we killed.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the lack of updates. End of July to the middle of October was trying. Very trying. My aim is to do better.
> 
> I wasn’t going to do a POV from Len here—I started it as a writing exercise just to get into the swing of things again, but I kinda like it. 
> 
> I should warn for details about the after effects of sexual assault. It’s handed in a clinical way. The emotional fallout will be in some later chapter.
> 
> I hope my readers haven’t wandered off due to the lack of new content. Please let me know what you think if you have a moment. It does help.


	26. Leonard Snart’s Recovery—It’s Trickier Than You’d Think

Mick stood motionless near the foot of the exam bed as he watched the lights dissolve the remaining tatters of skin off of Len’s back. He felt a warm breeze waft around him as Gideon increased the room’s circulation to vent the vaporized flesh. An uneven layer of pink-stained, pale yellow was left exposed. Mick assumed it was the thin layer of fat that gave his partner’s body a smooth sleekness instead of a ripped physique.

He shifted uneasily wondering what his own arms had looked like when he’d been forced to undergo scar removal by the Time Masters at the Vanishing Point? Had his skin and scars been vaporized, too? He supposed it had.

Fucking bastards.

That reminded him. He stepped over to the second treatment chair and hopped on it. “Gideon. What are we gonna do about those damn drugs in my system?”

“Only the steroids, testosterone and stimulants were increased to previous levels. Since your body has not had time to grow dependent on them again, we should be able to titrate them down quickly with little side effects.”

“About that, I need to be more...functional. I know I said I wanted them out as quickly as possible, but it’d be better if you slow it down so’s I’m not useless. Know what I’m saying?”

“Yes, Mr. Rory. I shall titrate the levels quickly until we reach the point where you start experiencing withdrawals again. At that point we will resume a much slower weaning. Daily visits to the med bay as essential to monitor your condition.” Only two beams of purple lights targeted his implants. The third one must be turned off. Progress of a sorts.

“Right.” Movement caught his eye and glanced over at Len. Fine tremors coursed through his body even though he still seemed to be unconscious. “Why is he doing that?”

“His shivering reflex has been reactivated now that Mr. Snart’s core temperature has increased above the level of severe hypothermia. While it may look alarming, it is actually a good sign.”

“Should I get him a blanket or something?”

“Unnecessary. In fact, a blanket would act as a barrier to the radiant warming that is currently treating the hypothermia.”

Mick stared at the slack, relaxed face and was grateful Len was able to sleep through the rather gruesome treatment to his back. Blood vessels had begun to weave their way through the layer of fat like an infestation of baby snakes. The skin of his buttocks and thighs had not been as thoroughly destroyed and those lacerations were closing seamlessly, leaving no trace that they had existed.

Mick looked away. “Hey Gideon? Gimme some more of those DNA collection wipes. Might as well get a few more samples.”

He busied himself cleaning the crusted evidence of Len’s assault off his partner’s hair, face and arms though Gideon refused to allow Len to be turned at all. It would have to do. Mick actually thought it was unnecessary as he thought none of the other hunters would have had time to participate in the attack but he wanted to have plenty of proof to back him up if he was right about who else had attacked Len. The crew was naive to give Rip Hunter their loyalty and they might prove difficult when Mick passed judgement on him. He had no problem with killing Rip but would prefer if people like Sara, Haircut and Jax didn’t get in the way. He needed all the facts he could gather.

By the time he’d finished, the light on the PSAERT probe had turned off. Mick checked the time and scowled: twenty two minutes. He carefully eased the probe out and studied the surface. At first, he thought it was just as it was when he first held it, but then he noticed there was a pattern of faint little squares all over the surface. Must be where the mechanics came out to work their magic. He sealed it back in its plastic envelope and dropped all of it in the chute for processing.

“Mr. Rory, Mr. Palmer is asking to be admitted.”

Mick glanced at this partner. While the blood vessels were no longer visible, the final layer of skin still hadn’t been completed, not to mention Len was still shivering. There was no way he could cover him up.

“Tell him to step away from the door. I’ll come out to talk to him. And shut the door behind me.”

When the door opened, Mick charged out ready to stiff-arm Haircut until he was out of the line of sight into the med bay but found that the scientist had back away on his own. He felt something bump his boot and he growled as he glanced down and saw one of the ship’s roombas darting pass him into the med bay. “What—”

“Oh! It’s been trying to get into the med bay to clean up the trail of blood you left….” he trailed off as Mick glared up from under his brow at him.

“You know what? Not important. Here’s the samples you wanted,” he said, handing over a pair of sealed plastic bags. “Gideon supplied me with two DNA collection kits and I labeled them as Hunter One and Hunter Two—”

“Shuddup,” Mick growled, grabbing the bags. He turned to go.

“Wait! Sara wanted me to give you this.” He bent over and picked up a neat pile of folded black cloth. “She said it’s Snart’s robe and that he’d need it.”

He wanted to slap the clothing and send it scattering, but he restrained himself. Snart did need them. It was meant as an act of kindness, not a jab at him for allowing Snart to end up wounded. Again.

“Rip!” Ray exclaimed, looking past Mick’s shoulder. “Oh. Wait. I’m not sure—”

MIck whirled around. “One step closer to that door and you’re dead,” he promised, striding hard and fast towards the Time Master.

Rip Hunter stood his ground, but raised his hands in front of him in a deflective gesture. “Now, now, Mr. Rory. I simply wanted to check on Mr. Snart’s condition. He was severely injured last time I saw him.”

“Why would you think that? He was walkin’ and talkin’.” Mick stopped just inches away from him. “Nothing was visible under that duster.”

Rip paused and blinked once, then continued smoothly. “Obviously from all the blood he was losing, of course, not to mention his mental confusion from the head wound.” His gaze glanced briefly down at what Mick was holding.

Had Len been positioned so that Rip could see the blood crusted bump? He thought back.

Yeah, Len did have his right side towards Hunter. Didn’t prove or disprove anything.

“I got it covered,” he growled, leaning closer until he was looming over the Brit. “Where were you while I was killing Zelus?”

“Since you neither wanted or required my help, I went back to the _Waverider_ to scan for other threats.” He waited a few seconds then added with a small smile, “Feel free to confirm it with Gideon, if you like.”

When Mick refused to respond, Rip looked past him to Ray. “We’ll be leaving soon for a more secluded location. Please inform the others,” he said as he turned and retreated down the corridor.

Ray walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Mick. “What’s going on, Mick?” he asked, his voice low with worried concern.

“Later,” Mick said, turning away.

He felt an hand on his upper arm, the light touch requesting that he pause.

“Is Snart going to be okay?”

Mick thought about it. Thought about all the abuse Lewis had put Len though. Thought about another kind of abuse Mick suspected Len had suffered but never talked about. And then he thought of how strong his partner was, how he kept his focus and drive. “Bet on it.”

***

Mick waited until Ray was walking away before he opened the door to the med bay and walked inside, closing the door behind him. Movement caught his eye and he scowled as the roomba buzzed and whirled, scrubbing the floor clean.

He lifted his gaze and was surprised to see Len had turned his head to face the door. His eyes were mere slits but open nonetheless.

“I heard voices,” Len murmured, his voice slurred.

“Haircut came by and dropped off your robe.”

Len’s focus dropped and he watched the roomba work. “That my blood?”

“Yeah.”

Len closed his eyes. “Tired.”

“Then sleep. I won’t leave you.”

“Gimme the robe...m cold.”

At least he wasn’t complaining about being hot. He eyed the flawless stretch of new skin that went from the broad shoulders to the gentle swell of the buttocks. His body was finally relaxed, the shivering over. “Gideon?”

“Mr. Snart’s core temperature is only one degree below normal. If it will help him to relax, the robe will not interfere with his recovery.”

Mick shook out the robe and swung it over Len’s body. Immediately, the rhythmic monitor beeps of Len’s heart rate began to slow. Mick hadn’t even been aware it had gone up. He let his hand rest on Len’s shoulder and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. He was rewarded by a slight curve to the corner of Len’s lips and for the first time since the day began, he felt something beside anxiety, fear, frustration and overwhelming anger. A flood of relief that Len was safe beside him again made his knees trembled. Len would be okay.

***

An hour and a half later, Mick was sprawled across the second treatment bed lost in deep thought. He knew, _he knew_ Hunter had attacked Len in the woods. Hunter was a predator; Mick had spent most of his life around criminals and had a sixth sense about them from just the way they looked at other people. He’d seen the way Hunter had looked at Len and under normal circumstances, the Time Master would be no threat to the badass that was Leonard Snart.

But predators were opportunists, always alert and ready for their chance. Raping someone didn’t take that long. It had been over an hour that they’d waited for the fire to die down on the _Hammer_. That was more than enough time to do the deed. Hell, Hunter had even been on the scanners had they’d flown low and slow up the valley. He might have seen Len escaping before they even landed. If he had, it made sense why Hunter disappeared so quickly before all the enemy had been neutralized.

“Gideon, when did Hunter return to the _Waverider_ and how long did he stay here?”

“Captain Hunter returned just as the Pilgrim fell into the hot springs and did not leave until requested by Ms. Lance to take the jump ship and search for Mr. Snart.”

Which didn’t mean nothing. Even Mick knew how to reprogram the AI to repeat whatever he wanted. “Are the DNA results back?”

“They are.”

He turned his head to his left, noting the usual talkative AI was suddenly reluctant to speak. He smelled glitch, a lie in the making. “Report the results,” he ordered.

“All the samples from Mr. Snart’s skin were identified as being contributed by the individual, ‘Zelus.’”

Mick waited a few beats. “And?”

“And what?” Gideon replied, sounding snippish.

Interesting. Gideon seemed reluctant to repeat a falsehood. “What about the samples from the PSAERT probe?”

Another longer pause. “The probe appears to be defective. All the samples taken are corrupt and I am unable to analyze any of them.”

Mick strongly suspected that if the samples were from Zelus, she would say so. Interesting that Hunter didn’t order her to simply state they were from Zelus. Or maybe he hadn’t been exact in his order and Gideon found some wiggle room.

“Did the probe complete its other functions? Were Snart’s injuries treated?”

“Those functions were achieved.”

Time to go fishing. “Do you have any other facts, symptoms or information concerning Snart’s condition or health?”

Another long pause. “During the repair of Mr. Snart’s hematoma and concussion, evidence was detected that suggested his short term memories have been tampered with.”

“What did you detect?”

“The memory erasure device causes inflammation in the pre-frontal lobes and hippocampus,” she answered curtly. “It may take a day or two for Mr. Snart’s other memories to return.”

He considered asking what her estimate was of how long ago it had been used on Snart, but the answer didn’t matter. Zelus would not have bothered to use it on Snart. The fact that it was used narrowed the suspects down to men on the _Waverider_. Stein, Jax and Haircut were too afraid of Snart to try something like that, plus they were gathered around the _Hammer_ and only out of sight of each other for short periods.

It had to have been Hunter.

Movement caught his eye and he watched as Len swung his legs over the edge of the treatment bed and pushed himself upright. He caught the robe and quickly shrugged it on, pulling it closed around him. His face was devoid of expression, his eyes distant.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he ordered, his voice strangely monotone.

The tone and the expression made the hair on Mick’s arms stand up on end. He’d only heard Len sound like that when he had been on his own for awhile and had suffered betrayals. He became harder, more inclined to choose a vicious solution if it got things settled quicker. He was more deadly. Leonard Snart without his drama and his drawl was a man who solved his problems quickly, simply, and with deadly results.

“What do you remember?” Mick asked cautiously.

Len frowned. “Woke up under the bleachers at a football game, burning up and smelling like the floor of a peep show room at a strip joint.” He blinked slowly, lowered his head a fraction and stared hard at Mick. “Tell me what’s going on. Now.”

Great. The asshole version of Leonard Snart had arrived. “Do you remember agreeing to come aboard the _Waverider_ , a time ship?”

Len faced relaxed with surprise for a fraction of a second and then he scowled. “Not helpful. Who’s this Zelus?”

“Bounty hunter, worked for the Time Masters. He kidnapped you and held you for about six hours. We came to rescue you, but you’d escaped into the woods. I killed him for what he did to you.”

“Why don’t I remember that?” he demanded.

“Couple of reasons. You were hit on the head, given a concussion. You’re just getting over a bad case of hypothermia. You were probably shot with a mind wiping gun that destroys your short term memory.” He hesitated. “And you were given a drug by Zelus. K6. It changes how the brain interprets pain,” he added before Len could ask.

A look of horror slowly took over Len’s expression. _“Why?”_

“He was torturing you. Might be better if you don’t remember.”

Len pulled at the robe so he could examine his chest. “Why don’t I see—”

“He whipped your back until the skin was gone. Gideon repaired the damage. Len, all the scars on your back are gone.”

Len’s eyes widened. A few moments passed as he took in all the information. Then his expression darkened. He hopped down off the bed and took a step towards Mick. “Where the hell were _you_ when all this was going on?!” he accused furiously, his hand automatically reaching for the absent cold gun.

“No one could have gotten to you faster,” Mick stressed, keeping his voice calm. Matching the intensity of one of Len’s emotional outbursts never ended well for the other person as it only inflamed Len’s anger. He didn’t handle extreme emotions well, tending to do things he might later regret. He needed someone to help him calm down. Mick could appreciate this because he was the same way. Mick was the likelier of the two to have emotional outbursts and benefited from having a partner who kept his cool. Usually.

Heaven help anyone who came across them when they were both letting their rage fly free.

He eyed Len, taking in the aggressive stance and his lowered head. Yeah, he was definitely more paranoid than usual.

“Where were you when I was taken?” Len snarled, his teeth bared.

“Back on the ship. Wasn’t at my best.” That sounded weak even to Mick, so he added, “I had drug withdrawals.”

That hit Len like a glass of cold water in the face. He blinked and looked confused. He knew Mck didn’t do drugs.

“I was addicted when I was kidnapped by the Time Masters.” He really didn’t want to get into this if Len was going to remember all of it in the morning.

“You don’t look like you’re going through the shakes.”

Mick shrugged. “I had Gideon restart some of ‘em so I wouldn’t be fuckin’ useless going after you.”

Len frowned, upset at this news. Lowering his eyes, his gaze flicked quickly about as though searching for more information.

When Mick saw the tension had bled out of Len’s shoulders, he slowly stood up and faced Len. “What you say we go to our quarters? Get some sleep? Maybe when you wake up you’ll remember more. Hungry?”

Len shook his head, still perplexed.

“Tough. I doubt you’ve eaten since breakfast.” Mick reached down and picked up Len’s slippers and handed them to him. “How about a sandwich and cup of cocoa? We’ve got marshmallows,” he tempted.

Len looked up, confusion plain on his face. With his anger gone, so was his drive and he was lost.

“Come on, boss. We’ll get you sorted out.”

The trip to the galley was uneventful and Mick soon had set a bowl of soup and the cocoa in front of Len. Maybe Len really wasn’t hungry, and if so, Mick had a better chance of getting him to eat some soup instead of solid food.

His partner raised an eyebrow but sipped the hot chocolate without comment. Mick sat next to him with a sandwich and beer. “It’s been a long day,” he explained, as he watched Len eyeing the beer.

As they ate, the others filtered in but when they started to walk towards them, Mick shook his head and scowled hard at them. That was enough for them all to back off and sit at the other tables.

Except for Rip Hunter.

He stopped just in front of Len. “You’re looking much improved, Mr. Snart,” he said with a smile. “It’s good to have you back on board, safe and sound.”

Len put his spoon carefully on the table and leaned back to stare up at Hunter, his head tilted to the side. “And you are?” he asked, his words cool with disdain.

Hunter paused for a moment and then his smiled widened. “Captain Rip Hunter, at your service.”

“Captain Hunter,” Len repeated, shooting Mick an expressionless glance.

“You really don’t remember me? Do you remember any of us?” Rip asked, gesturing to the others sitting across the room.

When Len stayed silent, Mick growled, “Fuck off, Hunter.”

Hunter looked surprised. “Mr. Rory. I’m just concerned about about the health of our Master Thief,” he said, resting an over-familiar hand on Len’s shoulder.

Len ducked out from under Hunter’s grasp while grabbing up the spoon. Mick slapped his hand down on top of Len’s, pinning the weapon to the table.

“Step away, Hunter, or I’ll let Snart here use this to melon ball out your eyes.”

His expression uncertain, Hunter moved back a few paces, “With a spoon?” he said, incredulous at the very idea.

“Snart’s resourceful. You’d be surprised by what he could do with that spoon.”

“I’d listen to him, Rip.” Sara was watching the exchange with wariness. “Spoons are vastly underrated as a weapon.”

“Well, nonetheless, it’s quite a relief to have you aboard again. Well done to you all,” he exclaimed gesturing to include everyone in the galley. “Taking down both the Pilgrim, Zelus and the other hunters was no mean feat! I applaud you all.” Stepping over to the food processor, he ordered a meal and took it to Professor Stein’s table.

“Come on, Snart,” Rory said. He released his hold on Len’s hand but didn’t try to take the spoon away from him. “Finish your soup and we can leave.”

A few minutes later, they left without any further words spoken. Len walked slightly behind Mick and let him guide him to Mick’s cabin. Mick was intentionally obvious when he locked the door behind them.

“This way,” Mick said, as he walked into the bathroom. “Activate the shower, Gideon. Body temperature, medium flow and particle size.” He turned to Len. “When you’re done washing, just say, ‘blow dry.’”

As he stepped past Len, Mick caught the relieved expression on Len’s face. Mick knew Len well enough to know that if he was unsettled, he wasn’t in the mood for sex.

Rooting around in the dresser, Mick found one of the long-sleeved tees that Len liked to sleep in along with a pair of sweatpants. He laid them next to the sink in the bathroom and went about finding some clean shorts and tank top for himself.

When Len stepped into the main cabin, Mick slipped past him to take his own shower.

“Wait,” Len murmured, staring at Mick’s arms. “You’re scars are gone, too?” His brow furrowed in distress. “Mick, am I dreaming or something? None of this is making any sense.”

“It will when you get the rest of your memories back. Gideon said it could take one or two days. You gotta be patient.”

Len stared searchingly into Mick’s eyes. “Am I safe here? I feel like I’m not safe and I don’t know enough to—”

“You’re safe on the ship with me,” he interrupted before Len fell down the rabbit hole of spiraling anxiety like he was prone to years ago. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

When Len nodded, Mick hit the shower and was done in under two minutes. Len was already in the bed, pressed close to the wall.

Mick slipped under the covers and ordered, “Lights on minimum, Gideon.” He turned to Len. “I’m glad you’re back. You’ve been through a lot today so go to sleep. It’ll help you recover. Will you do that?” The last thing they needed was Len staying up all night fretting.

Len yawned.

Mick narrowed his eyes. “Oh, for fuck’s sake! Are you really trying to play me?”

“No, no, no,” Len protested, trying to smile and stop another yawn that overtook him anyway. “I promise you, I _am_ tired. I _will_ sleep,” he dipped his chin to emphasize each statement.

Mick stared at him. “You are such a little shit.”

Len hummed. “You haven’t called me that in years.”

Mick grunted. “You haven’t scared me like this for years,”

Len was quiet for a minute. “I really will get my memories back? Don’t lie to me.”

“The mind wiping device can be set for different amounts of time. Whatever was destroyed by that, you won’t get back.”

“How long have I been on this ship? Can I have lost months, years—”

“No. You’re probably looking at a few hours. A few very unpleasant hours.”

“I’m not afraid.” He looked mulishly at Mick. “I can take it. I’m _not_ soft.”

“I know. I know you’re not. You’re Leonard fucking Snart. You are the smartest, hardest badass I know. I wouldn’t waste my time with anyone less.”

That seemed to mollify his partner. “Okay,” Len muttered.

“Okay,” Mick echoed, pulling at his pillow to get in a more comfortable position. “Try to go to sleep.”

“Right,” Len said, turning onto his side towards Mick.

Mick felt a hand brush against his arm, but instead of pulling away, the hand stayed put, a gentle, warm presence that he found comforting. He wished he could turn and cuddle Len, hold him close and fall asleep knowing he was safe inside his arms but he didn’t doubt Len’s defense of his personal space was on high and would be for days.

He sighed heavily and closed his eyes, focusing on the small point of warmth against his arm. Tomorrow would be better. Couldn’t be any fuckin’ worse that today had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so excited! Two posts, each about three weeks apart—and I’m totally counting The Making Of A Killer as part of NB because it is. Yay. 
> 
> As always, I do appreciate every comment of any kind, and will try to answer all of them. They do supply the inspiration/guilt that helps me make time to start on the next chapter. Not trying to guilt you, not at all. It just means the next chapter might show up sooner.
> 
> Edited to add: This characterization of Leonard is based on his first appearance in The Flash. He doesn’t have his drawl, has been separated from Mick for awhile and kills two people without good cause (one was the guy who brought him the cold and heat guns, and the other was the usher in the theater where he was testing the Flash’s speed.). Those are fairly big outliers from what he soon became. Just trying to get everything to fit, character wise.
> 
> I hope all of you have a joyous holiday, whichever ones you celebrate. See you next year.
> 
> Enjoy!


	27. Reset

Leonard gasped for air as he awoke, heart pounding frantically and his body slick with sweat. He could smell the heavy sweetness of pine trees all around him, smothering him, the air thick and sweltering. Everything was closing in and he felt the icy curl of panic trying to pull him under.

He jolted upright and pushed away the covers until they were in pooled in his lap. Blinking, he wiped the sweat out of his eyes and his gaze darted about the dimly lit room. Mick lay large and sleeping peacefully beside him, his covers gently rising and falling as he breathed. The heat was intolerable as it radiated off Mick in a punishing wave and Len pushed the covers all the way off.

He carefully slipped off the end of the bed without waking his partner and prowled around the room. There was no going back to sleep until he was in control of himself again. He slid open each drawer and explored all the contents. Clothing, clothing, clo—bingo! A partially used tube of something he didn’t recognize. He uncapped the top and squeezed out a small dab. Slick. Lube, then. Good to know.

He put it back and paced the room, tapping on the wall panels and feeling himself calm down as he applied himself to the familiar discipline of casing a room. When he felt centered again, he paused to think about the dream, no, the nightmare that awoken him. A jumble of images and feelings. Heat. Pain. And more confusedly, pleasure. Pleasure so intense as to be painful—the type of pain that could make a man scream until he had no breath left.

Confused, his hands spasmed into fists and he turned to the door. None of it made any sense. He had to get out of this room, had to find some space to breathe.

***

The next time Leonard awoke, he was calm. The heat from the furnace that was his partner was now comforting instead of stifling. In fact, it was very appealing. It made him want to run his hands over Mick’s body and feel all that strength. He had remembered a few more bits and pieces as he wandered the ship but none of it made sense. What would help him get grounded would be to feel that connection he had with Mick when they were bound together in passion and desire. That was real—the two of them together. That was a point of permanence that he could work forward from. He levered himself up until he could reach across Mick into the top drawer for that tube of lube..

***

Mick awoke to a hand sliding across his chest and the rasp of whiskered skin prickling his neck as Len’s lips and tongue played with his earlobe. He grunted in approval and rested his own hand over the arm on his chest and rubbed it approvingly. Then he stopped.

“You sure? Don’t seem right with what you’ve been through.”

Len let his teeth scrape the earlobe as he pulled down on it. “I feel fine. Don’t remember any of it. Seems to have bothered you more than me.” The kisses and gnawing dropped down to follow the thick cord of muscle that attached to his collarbone and Len, knowing that Mick liked it, purposefully rubbed his rough chin against Mick’s shoulder.

Mick recognized the deflection but still felt his heart twist at the truth to those words. Probably when Len did remember, he’d just shove the event away, never willing to acknowledge it beyond the need for vengeance. He never let anyone make a victim out of him. Mick needed to put those images and what he suspected away for now because Len would not tolerate anything else. Hell, they’d probably end up in a fist fight until Len had proved to Mick he was just as tough as always.

The kisses had moved on until they were now at his nipple and he felt a sharp sting as Len’s teeth scraped and worried the nub of sensitive flesh. “How do you want it?” Mick asked. One didn’t need to be a genius to know Len had a plan.

Len pushed himself up until he could look Mick in the eyes. “Put me on my back and fuck me like you mean it.”

Mick was offended. “I always fuck you like I mean it.”

“Yeah? Memories are off so I can’t be sure. Prove it to me,” he said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “Make me come so hard I’ll forget everything else.”

Should have known. Maybe Len had woken up horny but he was after something else, too. Something about his memories. The man’s mind was a brilliant twist of tangled connections.

He grabbed Len’s shoulders and had him flat on his back so fast Len’s eyes widened briefly in surprise. Then Len spread his legs apart in invitation. “That’s a good start,” he said, lips curling in that crooked grin of his.

Mick settled his weight on him, letting Len feel his mass, knowing that in the right circumstances, that pressure excited him. He slid his hand over his partner’s ribs, past his tense abdomen to slip under his waistband, but, there was no waistband. He raised his eyebrows when all he felt was more soft skin, curly pubes and the hot, velvety smoothness of Len’s hardening erection. He grunted with approval. “You’re ready for me?” he asked, his own cock stiffening at Len’s wantonness. “That’s so hot,” he said, opening his mouth as he kissed him hungrily. He ran his hand up and down Len’s hardness enjoying how his partner arched into his touch.

Len wiggled as he brought his knees up, his thighs firm against Mick’s waist. He broke off the kiss. “There’s more,” he said, his voice thick with heat. “Keep going.”

Mick smiled wickedly and went exploring. Pushing his fingers deep behind Len’s balls he was astonished when they slipped inside, the passage wet with lube. He blinked in surprise. “You’re ready for me? Completely ready?” he asked eagerly, wanting to be sure nothing else was needed for him to do. He shoved his shorts down to his knees.

“Time to set me ablaze, big guy.” Grinning devilishly, he reached down and guided Mick’s cock to his entrance. “Make me burn.”

Mick froze. That was too fucking close to what had nearly happened and his mind whited out with shock. He stared down at Len, alive and vibrant and right in front of him begging to be taken and his heart spasmed painfully from how desperately he wanted him. Eyes wild, he leaned in hard, his cock sinking into the wealth of tight, wet heat. “Oh, fuck!” he groaned.

Len eyes went wide as he gasped, his legs and fingers squeezing down punishingly hard wherever he was touching Mick.

Mick froze. “Shit! Told me you were ready.”

Len tore his gaze from the ceiling and shook his head vigorously. “No, no. That was— That wasn’t it. Something else. Keep going. Go hard,” he urged, running his hands frantically up Mick’s arms and over his back. He dug his heels down until they were pressed against Mick’s ass, urging him deeper.

“Okay, boss. Hold on tight,” he said, slipping his arm behind Len’s knee and guided it up over his shoulder. It caused a curl to the younger man’s lower spine that put his prostate right into the path of Mick’s thrusts. If Len wanted to be fucked blind, Mick knew exactly how to do that. He set a rhythm of short, quick thrusts, each one pulling a gasp from Len. When the gasps had turned into moans, and then the moans got higher pitched and more desperate, Mick reached down and took Len’s cock in hand, but was surprised when Len’s hand clamped down on his, stilling any motion.

With his other hand, Len grabbed Mick’s head with his thumb on the cheek and fingers cradling the back of the skull. He pulled him down until there were only a few inches between their faces, Len’s expression intense, his face flushed red as he stared hard into Mick’s eyes as he held to back.

But Mick could feel his own orgasm starting, his toes beginning to curl. “Come for me, you bastard,” Mick growled. “You fucking come right now!” he ordered, thrusting so hard the bed was knocking against the wall like a nail gun.

That did it. Eyes rolling up, Len thumped his head down into the bed, his mouth open to cry out but his iron will stopping any sound from being released.

The hot splash of Len’s load splattered up onto Mick’s chest and his hips spasmed twice more before he shoved in hard, shooting his own wad deep into Len. “Take it all,” he snarled, burying his face into Len’s neck. “You belong to me,” he bit out, unable to stop himself though he fretted that the words might challenge some higher power to try to take Len away from him again. Well, they could try but he was more determined than ever to keep Len safe and beside him.

He sucked in a deep, stuttering breath, his partner’s scent overwhelming him. Yesterday, for an eternity, he’d thought Leonard was gone forever and it was the worst moment of his life. He was lost in despair, thinking that he’d never again fight by his side, never again hear one of his god awful puns that brought Len so much joy. Never again stare into his eyes and watch as Len lost awareness of everything except Mick and what Mick was doing to him.

Len gave him purpose and kept him from sinking into a self-destructive pit. He completed him. He didn’t know what would become of him without Leonard Snart.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he confessed, his throat constricted with remembered pain. “The bastard said you were in the ship and he then he lit it up with an incendiary. I thought you were dead.”

Len slipped his leg off of Mick’s shoulder with a grunt, then rested his thighs against Mick’s waist as Mick slipped out of him. He rubbed his hand soothingly over Mick’s back. “You killed him?” he asked softly.

“Oh, yeah. The tech in my helmet recorded it. You wanna see?”

Len was quiet as he considered it. “I’d like to wait until I can remember more.”

Mick nuzzled an ear and pressed a kiss to the soft skin beneath it. “When you want to, let me know.”

Len rolled his hips and Mick shifted and settling his weight mostly off to the side of his partner. He continued to nuzzle and kiss the side of Len’s face.

Len stretched and turned towards Mick, threading his arm and leg over Mick. “Later. Right now I just want to enjoy the quiet.”

His cabin was nothing but quiet so it was obvious Len was talking about the noise in his head. Mick was more than happy to provide his lover with both a distraction and a relief. He leaned forward and captured Len’s lips in a slow, coaxing kiss.  
  
Minutes later, Len pulled away, his lips squeezing playfully at Mick’s tongue as they broke apart. He had a lazy smile and his eyes shone with affection. “I do believe you are happy to see me again.”

Len had no fucking idea. Mick felt like he’d won every lottery ever offered. So overwhelmed with emotions he couldn’t handle, he found it hard to speak. Instead, he cradled the back of Len’s head and stroked the short hair with his thumb while he stared mezmerised into his eyes. This was all he wanted in life.

He leaned in and captured Len’s mouth in a kiss so passionate Len would know exactly how Mick was feeling.

And he knew he succeeded when Len melted into him and lost himself to Mick’s fire.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter came very easily thus the short interval from the last one. Sadly, still no sex. 
> 
> Oh wait! That’s not true!
> 
> This chapter surprised me. Len surprised me. He was quite cross he hadn’t seen any action for over a year. So, what’s a writer to do?
> 
> As I mentioned in the last notes (late—after a couple of hundred people had already read that chapter) this version of Len is based on how he appeared in his first appearance in The Flash. He has flat speech, lack of drawl, increased paranoia and perhaps a quickness to take people ‘out’ when they aren’t trustworthy. Just in case you were wondering what happened to Len. 
> 
> As always, comments are deeply appreciated. Enjoy!
> 
> PS: Sorry about all the romantic fluff.


	28. Len Becomes Reacquainted With the Crew...and his Memories

When they awoke a few hours later, they spent long, languid minutes kissing and caressing each other. They were relaxed, focused only on enjoying each other in the here and now. Eventually, their kisses became shorter, more playful and when Mick’s stomach growled loudly, Len grinned.

“Guess that means you’re hungry for something other than me.”

Mick huffed. “I can get food anytime,” he said, chasing Len’s mouth down and nipping at his lower lip until Len opened up for another deep kiss.

But a few blissful minutes later, Mick’s stomach growled again and Len broke off the kiss with a hum. “Not exactly my preferred soundtrack for getting off,” he said as he pushed lightly on Mick’s shoulder, urging him back. “Let’s go get you fed.”

Twenty minutes later, they were showered, dressed and heading for the galley. Mick led the way and went straight to the food prep area. While the ship was capable of synthesizing meals, Mick preferred to make food the usual way. He pulled a skillet out and then opened the refrigerator. “Steak and eggs?”

“Sure. Coffee?” Len asked as he stared about perplexed.

“Just the basic stuff. Go up to that dispenser and tell it what you want.”

Len stepped closer. “Two coffees, black.” They appeared one at a time. He grunted, vaguely impressed, and carried them over to a table. After he set them down, he wandered around the room, opening cupboards and tapping on the wall panels.

A few minutes later, Jax entered the room. “Hey guys, Rip’s holding a meeting in his office so when you’re done here, you might want to stop by. He’s gonna fill us in on his new plan.”

Len slowly walked closer, his head up and his eyes level, his attitude one of confrontation. “And you are?” he asked, his voice flat, without warmth.

Mick shot a concerned look over his shoulder at the two.

Jax looked crestfallen. “Oh, you still don’t remember me? Well, I’m Jefferson Jackson.” He stepped forward and held out his hand.

Len moved backwards a step, staring at Jax’s hand while his own hand made an aborted move towards his back waistband.

“He don’t shake hands much, kid. Nothing personal,” Mick said, flipping the steaks without shifting his gaze from their interaction. “He’s a good kid, Snart. No need to toy with him,” he added when the silence became uneasy.

When Len stayed quiet, Jax lifted his hand to rub at the back of his neck. “I guess I’ll see you at the meeting then?” he asked as he glanced questioningly at Mick.

Mick plated the steak and eggs. “Sure, kid. See you in ten.”

As Jax left, Mick put the plates on the table and sat down, wasting no time as he dug eagerly into his food.

Len paced around the table before he finally chose the seat that faced the doorway. He pulled his meal over to him as he sat. “What’s his story?”

Mick cleared his mouth with a couple of swallows of coffee. Gideon never made the coffee as hot as he liked. “Lost his football scholarship to a leg injury. Now he’s a meta; he merges with Stein, the old guy, to form Firestorm. They can fly and shoot balls of fire out of their hands.”

“Handy,” Len said with a smirk. “Who else is in the crew and what can they do?”

***

Rip’s briefing had moved out of the office and down into the bridge, with the crew gathered around the video console. Mick led the way into the meeting, walking confidently until he was opposite Rip.

Len kept to the edge of the room as he slowly moved past everyone before settling on the ledge of the forward window. He crossed his legs and rested his arms on them, wrists crossed with his hands lax and the palms up. Even though his head was lowered, he was eyeing the group from the corner of his eyes, his whole attitude of stillness and aloof removal.

“Nice that you could finally join us, gentlemen,” Rip said, his tone sharp with sarcasm.

“Yeah, well we’re here now. Let’s hear your crappy plan,” Mick growled.

“It’s rather presumptuous of you to jump to that conclusion since you haven’t been privy to our discussion. Captain Hunter is a Time Master who is intimately familiar with the complex intricacies of time—”

Mick interrupted Stein. “Yeah, and I was one of the guys the Time Bastards sent out when they didn’t want to get their hands dirty. We’re running out of places to ambush Savage.”

“Indeed,” Rip said, eager to reclaim control of the conversation again. “We have to target Savage at the time and place we are certain where he will be—”

“—Right before he wastes your family.” Everyone on the bridge lifted their gaze to stare with disbelief at Mick. “What?” he asked. It wasn’t rocket science. Their goal was to stop Savage from killing Rip’s family so they had to get to them first.

“Yes, Mr. Rory. Savage will kill my wife and son in three days time. But we can save them and the world by stopping Savage now.”

“2166. London,” Mick growled. “Savage will be at the height of his power.” This had the earmarks of a suicide mission.

“Captain, the sky above London is blanketed by artillery fire.”

“Gideon, plot a course beneath it and find us a landing spot outside the city, somewhere near the encampment of the remaining resistance forces. We can give them assistance in their fight that will also double as a diversion for our main mission.”

Stein straightened up, alarmed. “I realize your family is in jeopardy but perhaps some deliberation—”

“—we really don’t have the time, Martin. According to Gideon, Savage is going to be out in the open tonight and vulnerable. Now, in order to capture him I require the services of—”

“Killer, Klepto and Pyro? Naw. The Klepto and Pyro parts aren’t gonna happen,” Mick stated flatly.

Rip whirled about to face Rory. “I beg your pardon?”

“Snart’s still recovering. He ain’t got all his memories back yet. I ain’t leaving him alone.”

Rip tilted his face towards Len and let his gaze roam from head to toe to head again. “He seems well enough to me.”

The blatant tone of insolence prickled the skin along the nape of Mick’s neck as his hackles rose. When he saw Len’s fingers curl into fists and slip to his sides, Mick’s heart began to pound as he recognized Len’s subtle fight responses unfold.

This wasn’t good.

“Well, he’s not. He’s not the same man you’ve been crewing with, so don’t think he is,” he said, buying time as he moved closer to Len.

“But we’re so close to finally capturing Savage,” Ray said, excitedly.

“Surely you’re not going to request we put our task on hold again while we waste time waiting for one of you to get healthy again?” Stein said, his tone indignant.

Len straightened slightly as he leaned backwards and Mick moved smoothly until he was standing by Len’s right side. He turned halfway towards the others.

“We’ve already put up with weeks delay because of you,” Stein blathered on, “and now your partner’s needs should come before Captain Hunter’s or Kendra’s during this critical time?”

“Sounds like we’re not wanted here. We should go, Mick,” Len drawled.

“Oh, no. Not until we’ve captured Savage. You agreed to finish the job,” bristled Rip. “Take responsibility for finishing your obligations for once.”

“Don’t remember that. Don’t like your tone, either,” Len bit off sharply, his head lowered and his gaze sharp and deadly as ice as he glared back.

“This is getting ridiculous. If they want out, they’re out,” pronounced Stein.

Len went for the gun he had concealed in his back waistband, but Mick had his hand on the gun before it could be pointed at Stein. He pushed the muzzle downwards. “Not that type of out, Snart. Chill.”

The pun drew Len’s attention and the tension went out of his shoulders while the rest of the crew were still reacting with surprise and alarm.

“Is that my revolver?” Rip exclaimed.

“No. Mine.”

“You stole that from my desk!”

Len smirked. “It was just lying there. Your carelessness is your problem.”

“Can we get back to the matter at hand?” Sara interrupted. “Rory, if you think the plan is crap, then let’s hear your idea.”

Instead of answering, Mick look expectantly at Len and his partner stepped forward.

“Firestorm and the Atom suit, they can both fly and fire weapons,” said Snart.

“True,” said Sara, sitting up a little straighter.

“You and you cause a diversion at the back of the rally,” Snart said, nodding at Rip and Sara. “The Atom suit guy shoots Savage and carries him off while Firestorm provides cover. I was told both the flyers are resistant to gunfire?”

“It’s 2166. They won’t be using _guns_ ,” Rip said, scornfully.

Len tipped his head towards Rip in an elegant gesture that plainly indicated he thought Rip was an idiot then tapped his own temple. “I believe Mick did mention ‘memory loss?’ ‘Sides, that’s why I _asked_ if they were resistant.”

Everyone looked at Rip. “Well, yes,” he said, “They should be fine if they are only briefly exposed to small arms fire.”

“Keeping it brief is the whole point in using the flyers front and center.”

“You know shooting Savage won’t kill him, right?” asked Kendra.

“From what I understand it won’t hurt him much, either. We just need him not to be resisting the Atom suit guy.”

“Ray,” volunteered Ray. “My name is Ray. Ray Palmer.” He waited expectantly for a response.

Len stared hard at him. “Well, Ray Palmer, do you think you can shoot and kidnap Savage? You look like the squeamish type that will end up screwing up the whole plan because you can’t follow directions.”

The room went dead silent. Mick turned towards Len and said, “You sure your memory hasn’t come back yet?”

Len shot Mick an incredulous expression then bared his teeth in a snarl as he hefted the revolver, his eyes flashing angrily. “Can _anyone_ else wear this suit?” he growled.

“No!” shouted Ray, then looked chagrined by his own outburst. “I mean, someone could but there’s not enough time to train them but that’s beside the point. I’ll, I’ll do what needs to be done.” He glanced at Kendra with eyes full of devotion.

She smiled back, then her expression became serious as she turned to ask Len, “What about me? This is more my fight than anyone else’s.”

Len considered her sharply. “Doesn’t Savage want to capture and kill you to maintain his immortality?”

She frowned in queenly disapproval at his question.

He narrowed his eyes. “We don’t hand over to him what he wants. You can wait on the ship and Loverboy here will bring Savage to you.”

Kendra opened her mouth to protest, but Len held his hand up. “I’m done here.” Standing up, he glanced at Mick. “I see what you mean, now. I’ll be in our cabin,” he said, dragging his gaze down Mick’s torso, “looking to blow off some frustration.” And with that, he left the bridge by the most direct route, Rip’s revolver still in hand.

Mick swallowed dryly and wondered if he was the only one that noticed the extra swagger to Len’s walk.

“What did he mean, that he saw what you meant?” asked Sara.

“He’s used to putting together teams that follow his plans like clockwork. I told him how all the past plans have been screwed, usually by a crew that can’t follow orders.”

“That’s not fair! There have been extenuating circumstances,” protested Stein.

Mick snorted. “Snart’s a pro, the best planner in Central City.” He walked closer until he was towering over Stein. “You may think thievin’ is for idiots but you’d be dead wrong. If this clown crew would actually follow the plan for once, you’d get it done right the first time.”

As Mick walked past Rip, the Time Master grabbed his upper arm to stop him. “Surely you’re not having relations with Mr. Snart after everything he’s just been through?” His voice dripped with disgust.

The sharp, vicious jab to Rip’s face was so fast as to be nearly invisible. Rip staggered back in surprise, his hand cradling his nose. Everyone on the bridge leapt to their feet in alarm. Again.

Mick leaned over him. “You touch me—or Snart—again and it will be the last thing you do,” he growled. He stiff armed him out of the way as he strode off the bridge. Questions and shouts of outrage trailed after him.

His foul mood was shocked out of Mick when he entered his cabin and saw Len standing still in the center of the room. Len’s right hand was still grasping the gun but the arm was straight by his side. His left arm was curled around his middle, his hand cradling his elbow. He was staring up at the ceiling.

“I feel like I’m being watched,” he said quietly. “Am I being watched?”

Mick stepped up to him. Snart’s paranoia was renown—and one hundred percent accurate in this case. “Yeah, probably.”

“Who by?” he said, his voice monotone and devoid of inflection.

“Rip Hunter for sure.”

“How do you know?”

“I went snoopin’ once and found a file he had on you. It had pictures.”

Len lowered his eyes and his gaze sharped. “Of?”

“Every inch of bare skin twenty-four hour surveillance could get him.”

Len looked away, his brow furrowed in distress, his jaw tight in anger.

“He’d made a list of your old injuries and scars,” Mick added because Len needed to know.

***

His scars? He kept those hidden for a reason. The few that had seen them had either looked at him with pity or in calculation, as proof he was weak and could be taken advantage of.

A drop of sweat trickled down his back and he twitched his shoulders in irritation. Why was the room suddenly so stuffy?

Scars. Why would this Rip Hunter be interested in them? What shit would Len have to deal with now? He could already tell this man was assessing him for weaknesses.

He reached up to wipe at his lips with the back of his hand but stopped when he saw his hand shaking with fine tremors.

_Scars...._

Len shuddered, feeling like he’d been punched in the stomach, like his chest was paralyzed and he couldn’t breathe. All around him the room lit with red light, all he could smell was the copper tang of blood, thick and overpowering. His heart pounded painfully in his chest and he swayed as dizziness overwhelmed him.

Large hands, warm and powerful, were on his shoulders, guiding him backwards. Something tripped his feet and he fell backwards. He was suddenly sitting. He raised his face up, panicked and his hands pawing through the air—grasping, pushing—he didn’t know which.

“Breathe! Breathe!” a deep voice ordered in his ear and he turned towards it, knowing safety was in that direction, like a drowning man grasping at flotsam.

A hand on his back rubbed up and down but he flinched away because his back was...it was…agony. He twisted away but the hand grabbed him by the nape and pushed him downward until his head was between his knees. He fought back, flailing and pushing at what he could reach with his hand until that, too, was captured and pressed down, trapped against his thigh.

“Stop. Stop. Stop,” he whispered, breathless. “I have to go, I have to go. Let me go.” He had to go, he _had_ to get away. He threw himself down and away and scrambled frantically for the door.

A heavy weight fell across his legs, trapping him, stopping his forward momentum. He fought wildly, twisting violently, swinging his fists at his attacker.

The weight pinning him down was now over his hips. Hands grabbed at him, forcing him on to his back. His face was pressed against a chest by hands that held his head clamped in place.

Unable to muster any other kind of resistance, he bit down on the cloth-covered flesh. A roar of pain startled him so bad he let go and the hands quickly adjusted his head until it was just the side of his face pressed against the heavily muscled chest.

“Take it easy, Lenny. Relax. Breathe, slow and deep. Slow it down. There you go. I’ve got you. You’re safe.” The deep voice vibrated against his cheek, murmuring non-stop. Leonard found he was drawn to the voice and that it comforted him. His fingers curled until he had two secure fistfuls gripped tightly within them.

Leonard took a deep breath through his nose but instead of smelling blood, there was only soap, sweat, beer and smoke. He took another breath and felt less frantic. The scent familiar and safe. Yeah, this was right. This was safe. The weight on him was no longer restricting but secure. His body began to relax.

The grip on his head softened until the hand was cradling him, the thumb stroking the back of his neck. He pushed his face more firmly into the chest and breathed deeply, nuzzling away the hot tears from his cheeks.

“That’s right,” Mick murmured. “You’re here with me. Here and now. We’re together.”

Leonard slowly reclaimed awareness. He remembered his exercises, the ones that would help him come out of a panic attack. He concentrated on what he could hear, see, smell and touch, which was Mick. Mick surrounded him and Mick was safe. After a few moments, Mick went silent and they both relaxed into the quiet.

When his heart rate was close to normal, he unclenched one fist and moved his hand to Mick’s shoulder, giving it a light double tap.

Mick shifted onto his side but kept his hand on Len’s neck. That was fine; Len still had one hand fisted into Mick’s shirt. As they settled into their new positions, Len relaxed his grip and opened his hand to rest on Mick’s chest, focusing on the solid wall of muscle as it rose and fell. The hand on his neck was a pleasing point of heat that seeped tendrils of warmth into him, further centering his awareness in a positive way filling the void that was left by the absence of that frenzied dread.

Mick grunted thoughtfully. “That was a bad one.”

Leonard had had similar ones but that had been decades ago when he was still dealing with the fallout of living under his father’s control. A few sessions of therapy had given him the tools he needed to deal with them and they had been less of a problem as time went by.

“Haven’t had one that like in years.” His voice was scratchy. Having a flashback episode was a weakness, but denying them only made them worse. Accept them, deal with them and then put it behind you. Besides, Mick had helped him through these before. Only Mick and Len’s little sister knew how broken he actually was.

“Do you know what caused it?”

Len was silent for a few moments until he could form the words. “I remembered Zelus.” And “what he did” he left unsaid.

Mick was quiet for a few minutes. “Do you remember the rest?”

Right now Len didn’t want to push to find out. He was purposefully avoiding the morass of pain and perversion that lurked at the periphery of his mind. He’d been flooded with those memories during the panic attack; he didn’t want to revisit them again so soon. He hoped Mick would have pity on him and he was actually referring to something else. “Like?”

“The crew. The missions.”

Len sighed. “Hard to say. Can’t tell if a memory is missing.”

Mick cleared his throat. “Do you remember what I said to you before you went into Salvation?”

Len thought about it. Nothing came to mind. “Be more specific.”

“The Time Bastards wiped my memory when I was Chronos—more than once. And time wasn’t linear in the Vanishing Point.”

Chronos. Len spent a moment piecing together what he could remember about that and grimaced at the amount of regret that slammed into him.

“Get to the point, Mick,” he said softly. He could smell a confession coming and with the headache he had, all he wanted was to have some quiet time with his partner. To earn that, he was determined to forgive anything Mick was about to say. The man had been there for him again.

“I didn’t know you would be taken by Zelus.”

“What?” he said, surprised.

“I’d remembered something someone told me, but it didn’t make sense at the time,” Mick said, his voice thick with regret. “If I’d only put it together quicker, I would’ve stopped you from going into that town,”

Len frowned. He did remember something, a minor thing, a vague non sequitur promise that had nonetheless made his skin prickle with foreboding. He looked up into Mick’s eyes and saw the regret, the pain, and the truth.

He nodded slowly. “All right. I believe you.” He paused. “I know you’d never willingly let me walk into a situation where I’d be tortured.”

Mick shook his head violently, looking like he wanted to puke. “Never! I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Lenny.”

Len didn’t want to think about the things Mick was sorry about. Later. He’d do it later when he was alone and he had time to assimilate it. What he wanted was just to be held and hold his partner in return. Sure it was a weakness to want something like that, but Mick looked miserable and Mick enjoyed hugging and stuff like that. He figured it wouldn’t be seen as a weakness if they both were doing it.

“Come here,” he murmured. He pulled himself closer and pressed his head against Mick’s shoulder. “Just, just....”

He grimaced in pain when he realized he could not say the words he’d been taught were a shameful display of softness that exposed his unworthiness. His desire for physical comforting had been met with beatings and abuse to toughen him up.

But Mick knew him and heard him nonetheless, wrapping both arms around Len and kissing his forehead. “This has been some fucked up trip we’ve been on,” he murmured. “Maybe we should think about leaving.”

Len glided his right hand over Mick’s shoulder and was distracted by the absence of the familiar thick, ropy scars that should have been beneath the henley. He probed at these memories until he pulled out the details of Chronos, of 2046, of abandoning his partner in a dark, foggy glade. Another memory made him push up his sleeve and he stared at his skin until his sharp vision was drawn to the faint line that separated the paler skin of his wrist and the rest of his arm. He blinked as he remembered the shock and blinding pain as he destroyed his right hand.

Why would he do that?

Mick. That’s right. He did it to save Mick.

He owed Mick so much, even more since they’d joined this cursed mission. He wouldn’t let him down again.

***

Gideon alerted Kendra that the mission had gone well. The rest of the crew was returning to the _Waverider_ with Savage as their captive. Excited by their victory, she went in search of Snart and Rory and—she couldn’t help it—to brag about their success. They had been so dismissive with their criticism and she wanted to see their expressions when they heard how wrong they had been to doubt their teammates.

As she neared the galley, she was startled to hear the sounds of energy weapon fire and raised voices, but they were tinny like a soundtrack of a movie. She heard Rory’s voice shout out, “Freak! It's past time I took the garbage out,” then more shots.

Carefully peering around the corner, she saw Rory and Snart sitting at a table with a six pack of beer between them. On a view screen on the far wall, she was shocked to see images from the battle at Yellowstone. The video image was jerking around and she realized it must have been a recording from Chronos’ armored suit. Pine branches whipped violently around the image as Rory raced forward.

A stranger’s voice shouted back to Rory. “Your thief enjoyed the K6 I gave him. I sliced off a few of the scars you’d given him for souvenirs and he begged me to take the rest, to be free of your brands. So I did. Then I took his fingers, too, and he laughed as I cut them off. You’ll need a bag to collect what’s left of him.”

Eyes wide with shock, she stood frozen in place as she watched the battle. She knew Rory defeated Zelus but she couldn’t stop watching the brutal exchange. The video whited out as Rory was hit by blasts from an energy weapon but it didn’t even slow him down. When he arrived at the hunter’s ship, he threw himself at Zelus and they wrestled briefly before Zelus toss something into the ship. A fireball roiled out of the hatch and as the percussion knocked Rory away, she couldn’t stop herself from ducking.

“Your pet is cooking, Chronos. Isn’t that how you like them? I can hear his sweet screams,” the insane voice taunted.

Kendra covered her mouth in horror, frozen to the spot. She watched as Rory stood up and walked to the flames, whispering “No” in the most devastating tone she’d ever heard. Then he turned back to Zelus.

“I should've done this the first time I knew what sort of monster you are,” he growled. She saw Zelus’ eyes widen and heard the panic in his voice as he pleaded for mercy.  


The heat gun was shoved under Zelus’ tactical vest and then she screamed as the figure in front of her exploded in spray of bloody gore and flames.

Both Rory and Snart turned to stare at her, Rory grunting in annoyance.

Snart took a long swallow of his beer and turned back to Rory. He nodded towards the screen. “Play it again,” he requested calmly.

Rory continued to glare at her when she didn’t leave. “Private showing, Birdie. Galley’s closed. Come back later.”

She backed away, not understanding how such a violent video could actually be a private, intimate moment for those two, but it was. “Sorry!” she squeaked, before she finally turned and fled back towards her room.

She had seen fighting and death but this was so brutal and violent as to nearly be beyond her comprehension. Rattled to her core, she changed direction and headed to the main hatch. She needed to see that Ray was safe and that Savage was effectively restrained.

She had listened to Rory and Snart’s advice during the planning meetings but she’d thought they were making sick jokes, imitating cardboard villains from second rate action films. She never really thought they meant the things they said, but maybe Rory and Snart were the type of men who would be a match for Savage; certainly nothing in her life as a barista had prepared her for dealing with such a murderous man. She wouldn’t be so quick to discount them in the future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long. February was not conducive to writing, at all. Complicating matters is I decided to start my long delayed Thorki sequel, so I will be alternating posting chapters between the two WIPs. Those poor folks have been waiting for two years, so it’s way past due.
> 
> Comments are great if you’ve got the time and inclination. 
> 
> Thank you for your continued interest.


	29. Taking Out The Trash

Len had Mick replay his fight with Zelus twice more. He’d wanted to kill the twisted fuck himself but he had to admit watching Mick do the honors was very satisfying. The only hard part was hearing the raw pain and despair in Mick’s voice when he thought Len was dying. It broke something inside of him and he wanted desperately to kill Zelus twice as bad as he had before. No one tormented his partner like that.

So he had Mick replay the recording again and watched as that bastard was blown apart. His heart pounding, Len could feel his own face contracted by his hatred into a fierce grimace, his teeth bared as the video ended.

Into the sudden silence, he imagined he heard the faint sounds of the main hatch opening, but it was more likely he had felt the change of the air pressure in his ears.

“Want me to play it again?” Mick asked.

Len willed himself to calm down. “This will have to do for now. They’re back, hopefully with Savage.”

“That is correct, Mr. Snart. The crew have returned, their mission a success,” Gideon volunteered, her voice more than a tad smugly victorious.

“Mick, you know they’re not going to be able to kill Savage. We need to be able to see and hear what goes on in the brig. Wouldn’t want to miss them justifying themselves and Savage’s monologuing.”

Mick grunted in agreement. “Gideon! You gonna grant us access to the brig’s monitors or do I have to go in and hardwire your innards again?”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Rory. Access is granted.”

Len smiled. “Then let’s go to the bridge and watch the trainwreck of Stein, Kendra and Raymond falling over each other as they back away from killing Savage.”

Mick grunted again. “You got that right.”

***

Len settled into one of the flight chairs while Mick went to raid Rip’s liquor cabinet. The rest of the group filed in and from their conversation, Len was able to glean that Savage had come back to life and shouted out that Carter was alive and was one of Savage’s most loyal personal guards.

Figures.

Sara sat beside him while Stein and Kendra unconsciously took positions across from them, all the while bickering with each other. Mick passed the scotch he’d taken to Sara before he stood protectively on Len’s other side.

Sara took a swig of the scotch. “We _should_ be toasting to Savage’s death.”

Sara must have been lobbying for Savage’s immediate death. Of course she would, being the sensible assassin that she was.

Stein, as predicted, had reservations. “Apart from celebrating murder...Savage still has Carter brainwashed.”

Of course Carter would somehow come into the mix, but Len wanted to keep to the plan. “I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, professor, but murdering Savage was always the plan.”

“Besides, Carter reincarnates, which is more than I can say about us.” Mick’s addition was objective and to the point. It used to baffle him how people would ignore Mick’s input but now he just figured it into the plan. Mick was right; they were in danger.

Len felt the need to bring the point to clarity since they’d not paid attention to Mick. “As long as he’s on board and breathing, Savage is a _threat_ , to everyone on this ship.”

Kendra scowled. “So, what? We just kill Savage and leave Carter a brainless drone?” She didn’t see Raymond and Jax enter the bridge behind her.

Mick was firm. “Yes.”

Len pointed at him to make it clear he agreed. What the hell was wrong with Kendra that she had all these men fighting to the death for her favors? It had been going on for millennia so it wasn’t just a few cases of indecision on her part. She had to be getting off on it and maybe Carter was, too. Experiencing again and again the first flush of love and lust, the intensity of jealousy and conflict. And now she had involved Raymond into her drama. He wondered if she was self aware enough to know that she was helping to perpetuate the madness?

“There’s a reincarnated version of Carter at least every hundred of years. If you need a Carter, we can time jump back a few years but maybe he’s already with his soulmate here. Do we even know where the Chay-Ara for this time period is?” Len could have been more diplomatic but he wasn’t feeling it.

She looked at daggers at him but interestingly, didn’t continue the argument. Beside her, Raymond was alternating between affronted for her and wounded that Kendra was still obsessing about Carter.

“Let’s not be hasty,” Rip cut in with soothing tones. “I’d like to question Savage about how he’s been able to avoid capture and you can take the opportunity to ask about Carter and the current Chay-Ara.”

Now everyone looked as if they’d been sucking lemons, even Stein.

“Gideon, please check the timeline for my family’s fate.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. There has been no change as yet.”

“We just need to hold onto Savage and wait for the timeline to settle.”

Len rolled his eyes and stood up. “Come on, Mick. All this exercise in futility has given me an appetite.” As they left, he shook his head as the rest of them continued arguing—with none of them lobbying for the immediate death of Savage.

Once in the galley, Mick went straight to the snacks and opened one after another as he tried to find something that pleased him.

“Why are all the snacks in the future sugar free?” he grumbled.

“So much for progress. You remember Alexa?” Len asked. Ever since Savage had been brought on board, he’d felt the skin on the back of his neck prickling.

“Yeah. The security deposit job. What about it?” Mick said, his mouth full of some sort of granola.

“I just had a feeling about that, a sixth sense things would end badly.”

“And it would have if you hadn’t pulled us out of there. So what?” Mick respected the feelings Len got and took them seriously.

Len anxiously twisted the ring on his finger, the ring Mick had given him as the only loot from a job gone bad. “I’m getting the same feeling now.”

Mick spit out the granola. “Wanna go check out the feed from the brig?”

Len stood up. “You betcha.”

***

They retreated to Mick’s quarters and ordered Gideon to pipe in the feed from the brig. They didn’t have long to wait.

First was Rip Hunter and they watched Savage run rings around him. When prodded, he quickly bragged about figuring out that Rip was a time traveler and how he’d manipulated Rip into giving him the names of his wife and son and the date they were to die. Savage also bragged that killing him would not stop their deaths—that only he could stop their deaths. And then he taunted Rip that he’d never be able to kill him because that would condemn his family to die.

Rip had been played by a master and left an agitated mess.

Next came Raymond, demanding to know how to unbrainwash Carter. Savage played with him, bringing up the current Chay-Ara and how he’d had Carter hold her down as he’d killed her. Raymond told him he didn’t believe him and demanded to know how to find Carter and reverse the brainwashing. Savage toyed with him some more about how he’d be happy to do that just so Raymond would see how Chay-Ara would toss him aside, despite however much she stated she loved him now. That Savage himself had gone through the same thing; he and Chay-Ara had spend decades together, happy and in love until Carter had shown up insisting that Chay-Ara could love no one but him, her true soulmate. Savage ended sadly that no matter how long Raymond had with Kendra, he would eventually lose her to Carter.

Raymond had stormed out, his wounded heart leaving a messy trail of blood behind him.

It was not even a minute later before Sara arrived; she had to have been lurking outside in the corridor for Raymond to leave.

Immediately, Savage went on the attack. “You spoken with your sister Laurel lately?”

But Sara was not rattled and fired back sass and questions of her own.

Savage attack became more pointed. “You should be scared of Capt Hunter. His obsession to save his family will be the death of you all.” Then he followed up with, “Captain Hunter lied to you so often yet you persist in believing him. You know why he selected all of you for this endeavor, don’t you?”

Mick sat up straighter. Hunter had taunted him that he was only chosen to ensure that Snart would come, but why had he wanted Snart? Hunter frequently had needed to be reminded for the missions to include the thief’s talents.

“He chose people he could manipulate, people that would believe his lies.”

Mick glanced at Len. The only person who had ever successfully manipulated Len was his father. Even his sister purposefully never tried to play Len; the siblings were brutally honest with each other and that’s the way they liked it.

“Do you blame him for putting his family’s lives first?” Savage asked, his voice devoid of anything but curiosity. The man had thousands of years to observe humans and knew how to go straight to their hearts.

Sara told him to go to hell and that was enough to show how much he’d gotten to her.

Len leaned forward. “She’s going to confront Hunter. Follow her, but hang back far enough so you can hear their conversation.”

“What if she tries to kill him?” Mick asked, thinking it was a likely thing for an assassin to do under the circumstance.

Len grimaced. “She won’t. Savage was right about Hunter picking people he can manipulate. Hunter already has his hooks in her. We just need to know if this prompts a change of plans.”

“You got it, boss.” Mick walked out the door, leaving Len to his anger, because oh, yes, hearing from a man who knew all about manipulation that Len’d been picked because of a weakness that Hunter knew how to exploit? He could see cold anger radiating from Len and knew they both were thinking about 2046 and Len’s marooning of Mick to weeks of misery before he was captured by the Time Bastards.

Mick was also thinking how Hunter had pulled the pin on Mick’s own anger and issues of unworthiness and pointed him at the space pirates. Hell, his conditioning as Chronos included blaming Snart for everything. His mind had been filled with thoughts of hatred and destruction but when he’d kidnapped Len, all he’d wanted to do was to remove him from the _Waverider_ and secure his person. Of course, he’d threatened him with killing over and over the one person he loved, his sister Lisa, but he’d resisted completely the compulsion to kill Snart. His murderous urges only came to the surface again after Hunter had visited Mick in his cell, superficially to take all the blame from Snart and place it on himself. Somehow after that, all he wanted was to kill Snart again.

They’d both been played.

***

Knowing where Sara was headed made it easy to stay undetected; he just crept up soundlessly using the far corridor. Hunter was asking about his family again.

“The timeline remains unchanged.” Gideon sounded apologetic.

“Were you expecting something different?” Even from here, he could hear the danger in her voice.

“Hope springs eternal, Ms. Lance. If it didn’t, I would have surrendered to despair a long time ago.” Hunter sounded tired. “I assume Mr. Savage is secure in his cell?”

“He wasn’t exactly short of opinions on you though,” she prodded.

“I imagine not.”

Ah, Hunter was finally buying a clue all was not well.

“Among them being that you would sell us out to save your family.”

Sara could certainly be to the point. Mick liked that about her.

“He’s not wrong.”

Mick tensed. He hadn’t expected Hunter to admit it, but he knew honesty could also be used as a tool to manipulate with. Snart certainly used it.

“What vexes me is that we’ve thrown in with a captain that cares more about himself than he does his crew.”

Mick could hear the hurt in her voice but was surprised that she simply walked away after that. No changes to the plan, then. He carefully withdrew back towards his quarters.

***

After a surprisingly short time, Raymond charged back into the brig. He was angry and demanding to know how to free Carter. Savage taunted him, his tone dismissive. He called into question Raymond’s manhood, stating Chay-Ara would be better off with Carter after all.

Len knew exactly what Savage was going to get Raymond to do, the idiot. Len grabbed his cold gun and ran for the brig. As he skidded through the door, Savage was stepping over Raymond’s unconscious body and into freedom.

He looked up, seemingly pleased to see Len. “Mr. Snart! It’s wonderful to finally meet the only person on this ship that has any brains. I bet you came by to find out why Captain Hunter included you in his current band of disposables.”

Len’s finger tightened on the trigger, changing the setting to full freeze. He had intended to shoot first and not let Savage have time to manipulate him, but damn it, if he did have an exploitable weakness, he wanted to know what it was.

“I’m sure you’re _dying_ to tell me,” he said, charging up the cold gun.

Savage smiled. “Captain Hunter has been on his fruitless quest for untold years, always with a different group of people, people whose lives are disposable to him, but he gets bored. He likes to liven things up by including a challenging man, a man with some mystery to his soul. A man who he finds desirable. A man he will eventually conquer and partake in the pleasures of his body.”

Len blinked. Savage had inched closer until he was within lunging range of the cold gun. He fired, freezing him solid. It would kill any other person but Len knew they had to take further steps to make sure that Savage would stay dead and he doubted Kendra would do the coup de gras now that Savage could dangle Carter in front of her again.

He heard the familiar pounding of running feet and swiveled to face the corridor entrance.

As expected, Mick ran in, his expression wild. He calmed immediately when he saw Len had it under control. “Haircut went in to fight and Savage got out?”

“Yep. Go get a duffle bag and a length of chain. We need to use the jump ship to take the garbage out. Oh, and get my gear.”

Mick wasn’t gone long. He’d taken over one of the smaller cargo bays for his collection of useful stuff and items he’d stolen. By the time he’d returned, Len had kicked Savage over and he now lay on the ground in several pieces. Mick tossed Len his coat and gloves while he fashioned a loop and hooked it around Savage’s leg. Len gathered up the loose bits of head and arms and slid them in the duffle bag.

They ran to the jump ship, Mick dragging the body behind him. They threw Savage into the jump ship’s small cargo hold and locked the main hatch. Mick was powering up the drive when Len heard pounding on the hatch. He looked over his shoulder and saw Hunter’s angry face but couldn’t hear whatever he was shouting.

The ship lurched up and forwards and Len was glad for the seat belt that kept him in his seat.

“Where to, boss?”

“The sun. As close as you can. We’ll open the outer hatch to the cargo hold and dump Savage so he’ll coast right into the sun. It may not kill his immortal soul for quite a while, but he’ll not be able to reform. Without the regular shot of immortality he gets by killing the hawks, he’ll eventually die.”

Mick grunted in approval. “Should work. Don’t think anyone will thank us when we get back.”

“Doubt it.”

“Wanna go to 2016 afterwards?”

Len sighed. “As much as I’d like to, we’d be too easy to find. I want to be sure this is all resolved first. Don’t want anyone with a grudge sneaking up on us. Besides, I want to know if this manages to save Hunter’s family.”

Mick grunted again. “My money is that it won’t.”

“Why?”

“Can’t say for sure. Just seems that something is always working against us since we’ve joined this crew.” Mick did a double check on one of his monitors. “Just so you know, the _Waverider_ is after us.”

Len frowned. “Is that going to be a problem?” He had no clue about what the two ships were capable of.

“Naw. I’m going to make a couple of time jumps to throw them off. Probably gonna make you sick so get ready.”

***

Mick wasn’t wrong. The quick jumps forwards and backwards played havoc with Len’s equilibrium and scrambled his language center. It was a few hours before he felt better. By then, they were as close to the sun as they dared. Mick performed the maneuver effortlessly and on the first try, they could see Savage’s limp body shriveling as the water within it turn to vapor. His clothes and the duffle bag ignited briefly, the orange flames laying flat along the fabric like a sheet of water before it flickered and went out, leaving what remained black and withered.

“He’s not coming back from that,” Mick said, satisfied. He increased speed and turned the ship away from the wall of boiling flames that was the sun at this close distance.

“Was that recorded?”

“Yeah. Think any of them will want to see it?”

Len frowned. “Hunter, maybe?”

Mick was quiet for a few moments. “Did Savage monologue you before you iced him?”

Len lowered his head slightly. “Some,” he admitted. When the silence stretched, he added, “He was pushing the idea that Hunter has gone through a number of different crews which he wastes trying to save his family.” He started twisting the ring on his little finger. “He insinuated that Hunter gets bored and recruits someone who is a challenge. Is date material.”

Mick stared at the view screen without moving for so long, Len felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle. Mick had a different angle to view the world than Len and he sometimes caught things Len missed. “What?”

“Sonovabitch.” He turned to face Len. “He’s been using me to get at you.”

Len frowned. “How?”

“The longer we’ve been on that ship, the worse it’s gotten. Star City, 2046. It wasn’t an accident we crashed there. Hunter knew visiting there would set us against each other.”

“How could he be sure?”

“I was so sick of that ship by then, all his stupid rules and the food was crap. Walking out into Star City was pure freedom. I was drunk on it.” He paused. “Remember I told you Hunter had a file on you? He had ninety other files, probably one for all the people he’s recruited and wasted. Along with the photos, yours also included every report the authorities ever wrote about you. Had one on me—prison records, psych reports. My lack of impulse control was front and center. I think he’s been trying to get you isolated.”

Len paused as he considered what Mick had said. “I think he didn’t expect you to come out of that gulag alive. He only pushed for plans that stole the core and either save or murdered Stein.” He gave a tight smile. “Hunter took Sara aside and stressed that Stein couldn’t be left alive in Savage’s hands. She had a sniper’s rifle.”

“Why?”

“Sara’s issues about her bloodlust left her vulnerable to manipulation. Maybe Hunter thinks she’s a challenge, too, or maybe he just likes tearing people down.”

“You know Hunter said I had the IQ of meat and that I was only brought along so you’d join the crew? That’s what sent me to make a deal with the pirates.”

Len met his gaze, his expression hard. “That would do it.” He bit his lower lip and slowly shook his head. “He’s been filling Raymond’s head with thoughts of being a hero.”

“Jax and the Professor?”

“I don’t know. Maybe just giving them access to future tech?”

Mick grunted thoughtfully. “What happens next?”

Len grimaced. “Go back. Tell Kendra she’s free. Find out about Hunter’s family.”

Mick scowled. “What about Hunter? You know I think he’s the one that messed—”

Len held up his hand to stop him. “And you know if he is, I’ll end him. We can’t believe anything Savage said because he’s a psychopath. What proof do we have it was Hunter except his general skivvyness?”

“Opportunity and motive.”

“Motive? That’s what you’re calling it now?”

“He’s been motivated to get into your pants. Men like him don’t ask for permission if the opportunity presents itself.” Mick stared at him, frustrated. “Do you remember anyone else doing ya while you were on Zelus’ ship?”

Len looked away. “No, but I’m not sure I remember everything that happened. Even running through the forest...at times everything hurt and yet at other times, other times I think I was coming. I still—”

“It was the drug Zelus gave you,” Mick interrupted, gruffly.

“I think I was running from that as much as from needing to get away from him. I focused on the pain. _That_ I know, _that_ I understand.”

After long moments of silence, Mick sighed. “So we go back. Tell Kendra the good news that Savage is permanently dead and have her yell at us. Check to see how Hunter’s family still gets killed. And kill Hunter when we confirmed he’s a rapist. Sound about right?”

Len hummed in agreement. “For a pair of thieves, there’s a lot of murder in that list.”

“Yeah, well, we just need to make sure we’re not the ones that get murdered.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Len really isn’t victim blaming Kendra. He just thinks if a cycle has been going on for thousands of years, maybe Kendra and Carter aren’t trying their hardest to stop it. Personally, I think she would have if she didn’t suffer from Comic Book Heroine Syndrome where all she gets to do is look pretty and wait for the men to save her.
> 
> As always, I’d love to hear your comments if you have the time to leave one. Thank you for still reading this. It won’t be much longer now til we reach the end.
> 
> Edited to add: Just wanted to acknowledge that a lot of Savage’’s dialogue, the conversation between Rip and Sara, and some other scattered dialogue was lifted completely from the episode.


End file.
